Lace, Lace, Leather
by Trilies
Summary: The first time Chikusa asked Mukuro about participating in BDSM, he laughed but agreed. With the end result, he can't help but be quite satisfied. Sub!Mukuro, Dom!Chikusa, obviously very NSFW.


**Author's Note:** This fic involves bdsm and sexual themes.

* * *

The first time Chikusa had approached him going to a BDSM club, Mukuro had laughed.

"Is possessing your body not enough ownership for you?" he'd asked, leaning over to indulgently trace a gloved finger up the side of Chikusa's face. They were in yet another foreign country, the scent of blood still lingering subtly beneath everything else. One more corrupt human being, one more death on their bloodied hands. They wouldn't be here long, any of them, so it was fine to sit in an open cafe with their drinks out before them. Coffee for Mukuro himself, sweetened until it was nigh unrecognizable, and plain lemonade for Chikusa.

For all his teasing, for all the way Chikusa tilted his head into Mukuro's hand with his eyes closing in surrender, he wasn't surprised when his subordinate murmured, "Not in that way, Mukuro-sama." Humming idly, Mukuro stroked his thumb along the hollow of Chikusa's cheek. Out of all of his followers, all of the hosts he kept closest to himself, he knew that Chikusa was the one that hungered the most in a way that would put Ken to shame. When it came down to it, after all, Ken's desires were simple. He wanted to be noticed, and praised, and go as wild as the animal blood in him demanded. Chikusa's wants were trickier, more complex. While similar methods could be used on him as much as Ken, a finer touch was occasionally required to finish up the more subtle things. He wanted to possess as much as be possessed.

Well, that _was_ part of the deal. Possession, to the surprise of some, was a two-way street, at least when it was agreed upon like Chikusa and Ken had years ago when they'd surrendered their blood to his trident. Mukuro had no argument against it. Besides, to see Chikusa in a proactive mood instead of allowing himself to be used? _That_ was a rare treat, and such things were to be encouraged. In some aspects, the price was high... Mukuro loathed vulnerability, and to allow himself under the power of another.

Yet it was different with Chikusa. His diligent, loyal, hard-working Chikusa whose quick eyes kept track of Mukuro's thoughts and plans as well as he did, and whose steady fingers had more than once stitched up their motley group in the face of injuries taken. He'd bite off his tongue before letting loose any of Mukuro's secrets, and gouge out his eyes before giving away anything Mukuro himself did not want known. It was foolish, the cynical part of him knew, to put such trust in another human being... but Chikusa had earned such a rare standard.

(Besides, even he needed someone who he could allow such privileges, and Chikusa had been with him longer before Chrome. The past had a strong weight, enough to match his better half.)

So he'd chuckled, dropping his hand, and agreed casually with a relaxed, "Let's walk before we run, shall we?" 

* * *

That night, he'd laid back on their bed while Ken had slumbered, and let no protests leave him when Chikusa's long fingers had folded delicately around his neck.

Oh, how deftly his trusted right hand had stolen his breath away. Chikusa always had been careful, ever since he had been a child ducking away from the scrutiny of scientists to when he'd become older and he'd had become so familiar with poisons. He treated Mukuro the same way he treated his weapons, exploring how much he could get away with and what the boundaries of the flesh were. Out of all of them, he'd been the most knowledgeable about the human body. Where to punch to make legs buckle, where to stick a needle for the quickest effect. Then, with his long legs straddling Mukuro's waist and his body looming over his leader, he showed such expertise again with every press of his thumbs into Mukuro's throat. At first, it had only made things slightly difficult. The pressure was to bother, not to steal. So barely noticeable, the grind of Chikusa's body down onto his had captured more of his attention, and it was his kisses onto his mouth which made his breath really stutter.

Mukuro knew Chikusa's body as well as his own; he _considered_ it his own with how much time he had spent in it. That night, Chikusa reminded him that the reverse was just as true.

From then on, whenever they had a moment to themselves that was not interrupted by any of the others, Mukuro allowed Chikusa's fingers to close around his throat. Every time, he ventured a little further, pressed a little harder. A blind man could tell the effect it had on Mukuro's beautiful assassin, and he got the pleasure of a front row seat. Chikusa's eyes bore down into him with a focus few other people were ever privileged enough to see, darker than oceans and fogged over with intent. He looked at Mukuro with the kind of stare that gave away how he was possibly thinking of taking a page from Ken's book, how he could lean down and take a chunk of flesh with his teeth. Mukuro had always suspected that allowing him such freedom would have an interesting affect on Chikusa. Still, he couldn't have imagined that it would be _so much_ until their hips were rocking against one another in breathless bliss and Chikusa's tongue was down his throat.

He hadn't quite imagined, either, how hard he himself would become until Chikusa's fingers had locked away every trace of air and his lungs were screaming for air.

Lights went off behind his eyelids, blinding him. Distantly, he was aware of the curve of his spine, how he was arching desperately into Chikusa's crotch. It hit him like a train when Chikusa's fingers abruptly let loose, allowing breath and pleasure both to rush over him. Vision snapping into focus, he gasped and groaned before Chikusa was down on him again. Air was stolen inbetween kisses, rough and bruising. His subordinate was just as heavy of breath, Mukuro realized inbetween it all, as if he'd been the one choked instead.

"Mukuro-sama," he whispered, grinding his ass down onto the bulge which was pressing up against it demandingly.

Mukuro smirked, lips wet and bruised, bruises no doubt forming at his throat. "Yours," he whispered, hoarse, and got the pleasure of a front row seat to how Chikusa shuddered from head to toe. His lips curled, thick flesh baring just the faintest hint of clenched teeth, and then his fingers tightened around him once more. He had no idea how many times they repeated the pattern, breath stolen by kisses and a tight grip alike, and he didn't bother to care until his climax rocked through him as bright as suffocation.

"You realize," Chikusa said when they were finally well and done, his fingers patiently doing a complete check over Mukuro for any signs of serious injury, "that this is a little different than what I wanted."

Laughing despite how much his neck ached, Mukuro glanced at him from beneath half-mast eyes. "Are you complaining?" he teased, allowing his head to be moved back so that Chikusa could see his throat better. Chikusa didn't answer for a long moment. Instead, he took a stethoscope that they'd long filched from a doctor's office who-knew-how-long ago and patiently listened to the way Mukuro's lungs sounded.

Only when he was satisfied with everything did he answer again, tucking the tool away. "BDSM is more than the 'm for masochism', Mukuro-sama." From where his head was ducked down, hair falling in a curtain around his face, Chikusa's gaze slid over to him. "'Walk before running', right...?" he said dryly, both of them well aware that they'd jumped straight into the most dangerous thing they could have toyed with when it came to sex. Well, was it really such a big deal? Their entire lives had been going straight into the most dangerous thing, regardless if they were ready or not.

With a clean bill of health, Mukuro dismissed his subordinate's questioning with the knowledge that he would be permitted to get away with it. Instead, he pressed against Chikusa's shoulder blades, and let his smirk rest along the curve of his neck that peeked out from beneath hair and beanie. "We'll see what we can find in the next sufficiently big city we go to," he promised, sliding his hand around Chikusa's waist. The front seam of his pants still strained under arousal, his own release having been ignored in favor of tending to Mukuro. Such a loyal thing, his Chikusa. It was why he was permitted something that few others were allowed. "Now let me take care of you." Chikusa surrendered to him easily, as he had down dozens of times before, and, exactly like those times before, Mukuro found more pleasure in watching his skin turn flush and normally dull expression twist more than anything else. 

* * *

The club was called Nitana, and Mukuro had to admit that it was a rather professional little business.

There was nothing grand about it from the outside. No neon blared declaring whips and chains and leather available for use. No bars decorated the windows, although perhaps that was because there weren't many windows in the first place. There wasn't even an explanation of what it _was_ , only the name and nothing else hanging over the clean green door tucked away in an alley. Inside was clean, professional, well maintained. Sure, the floors didn't shine, but it wasn't a pigsty by any means. There was only a little waiting room, and a desk where a person manned a computer and register. If someone were to walk in expecting latex, they'd surely be disappointed. Only business casual here.

M.M. had recommended it to him, and Mukuro had no shame in using her card as he slid it across the desk for the worker to scan. Whether the mercenary-for-hire used this place for business or pleasure, he hadn't really asked. All that mattered was that the card went through, and he allowed Chikusa to handle the finer details. As his subordinate murmured through a conversation with the secretary, Mukuro entertained himself by exploring the waiting room. The chairs were comfortable enough. On the wall, various framed pictures hung that were so tasteful that one could almost miss how the subject matter involved rope or the naked body. To his amusement, he even found some paper catalogs that weren't so afraid of going into the more raunchy aspects of everything. Exotically shaped vibrators and dildos, custom-made equipment, cards showing off companies or single person businesses that were more than happy to make anything one's lustful heart could desire...

None of it was anything that Mukuro hadn't seen before as he'd torn his way through the underworld, honestly. Whether the homes of mafia or those of corrupt businessmen (a repetitive description, really), many a person had their own private little fetishes that they so adored pouring money into. At least it was enough to keep him entertained and busy, until Chikusa was softly calling for his attention. The doors which lay beyond the worker's desk were now open to them, and a key was held inbetween Chikusa's fingers. So he'd decided, had he? Following along, Mukuro glanced at another hallway and another door which were joined to the one they had just entered themselves. That no doubt was what connected the more "energetic" part of the club, which would no doubt live up to its name as night fell. Well, time would tell if Chikusa was the type to show off or not, a thought that made him smirk.

With Chikusa, it could go either way. Did his possession demand acknowledgement, or did it crave to have something that was his in the dark away from any other's eyes who might covet him?

That would be a while yet, he figured. In the meantime, they passed more and more doors. Many of the different dungeons were tailored for different purposes. Not everyone wanted somewhere dark and dank, with chains rattling against the walls. Domination could take place in all sorts of locations, he had found. Some preferred the classics, that was true, but there were others who were just happy to carry about their fantasies in a perfectly normal bedroom... albeit one where the bed itself had restraints in plain view. Secrecy was what needed in the end, more than anything else. What flavor of it would his Chikusa choose? With M.M.'s card granting them access and Mukuro having funds available from all sorts of misbegotten gains, he could choose anything.

The answer was at Room 14, where the door unlocked easily to Chikusa's whim, and he allowed Mukuro to enter first. To his amusement, the room was rather plain. Oh, certainly, the couch and armchairs (all discretely able to match various restraints, he noted) were well crafted and luxurious, but it was nothing extravagant or complicated. Had he expected more, or did this match Chikusa's tastes perfectly? "No leather upholstery?" he asked his subordinate, eyes bright and laughing while he ran a hand against the velvet of the couch. Chikusa's eyes flickered over to him from where he was securely locking the door.

"No... Not this time." The admission drew a long sly smile onto Mukuro's face. What really had his attention, however, was the bag that Chikusa was finally sliding off of his shoulders onto one of the armchairs. In the weeks that had been leading up to this, his subordinate had requested a little more to his allowance than he normally received. Mukuro had permitted it, of course, mostly out of curiosity to see just what his quiet and laconic Chikusa would do. It would have been a simple matter to spy on him, which they had both known, but Mukuro had willingly (and metaphorically) kept his hands over his eyes in this case. Sometimes, it was nice to have surprises so long as they were within his control. Yet it seemed as though he would have to wait for his surprise a little while longer. Instead of going through the bag immediately, Chikusa lowered himself onto the arm of the chair with his gaze settled onto Mukuro. "We should... establish boundaries. And a safeword."

Mukuro's eyes shone in faint amusement. "I don't recall us doing so before," he teased, although he knew well that it was hard to say anything when one could barely breathe. With how both of his hands had been perfectly free on such occasions, it'd been a simple matter then to hold something within his grasp and let that serve as a more visual reminder. Not that it was necessary, really. If he wished, he could overthrow Chikusa easily and in a variety of ways. Part of the fun was _not_ doing that.

Shrugging, Chikusa didn't deny the claim. Instead, he murmured, "It's what I read was for the best." Of course he'd been doing research into this sort of thing. The same person perched on that chair was the very same person who had forced himself into learning Japanese at the drop of a hat right alongside his partner and, even before that, the same person who had learned poisons at a young age. If there was any way in which Chikusa was at his most reliable, it was when it came to studying. Those glasses weren't merely a necessity, or for show. His eyes took on an inquisitive sheen the longer he looked at Mukuro. " _Is_ there anything you don't care about, Mukuro-sama?"

"Don't worry about it." Mukuro's response was simple and dismissive, fluttering through the air. He didn't bother to spare much thought for the question. Instead, he grinned rakishly. "Safewords are supposed to be things that you wouldn't normally say in the context of the moment, isn't that right?" His shoulders shook in silent laughter. "What about 'Hibari'?"

Chikusa eyed him for a moment, thoughts impossible to read, before he slowly drawled, "I'm not sure that's not in context, Mukuro-sama." Silent laughter immediately lost its adjective, and Mukuro curled up with his hand at his mouth. Chikusa, when he bothered to muster up the effort to be witty, always had such good aim when it came to things like this.

Once his mirthful tears had been wiped away, Mukuro strode over to Chikusa to slide his still-gloved hands up along his arms and his chin pressed into his shoulder. "Crane," he hummed, impatient curiosity badgering at him. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

There was nothing but silence for a moment. Chikusa certainly took his sweet time when deciding if something was to his liking or not, Mukuro had to admit, although he wondered if sometimes that was on purpose. They had come to know each other for so many years. Whether he liked it or not, Mukuro was well aware of how intune Chikusa had become to some aspects about him. It made keeping secrets from him that even Chikusa's perceptive gaze couldn't pick up all the more satisfying. Being known inside and out was something he could barely tolerate even from his beloved Chrome. That was a simple fact. Soon, however, with his head cocked to the side, Chikusa finally nodded. "That's good enough," he said quietly, and unzipped the bag to reveal... another bag.

Two, actually. Mukuro's eyes tracked the first one as Chikusa removed it delicately to sit on the table. The other soon joined it, although Chikusa barely paid it any mind. Instead, he opened the other one and began to remove, to Mukuro's intense interest, various articles of pure white lace. It wasn't the kind of cloth that any of them had seen much, save for when they were breaking into the home of a mafia don and slitting his throat to stain such things crimson. No blood accompanied any of the cloth, however, and neither did any dirt. Everything was perfectly pristine. So _this_ was what Chikusa had spent so much of his allowance money on, without a doubt. These were all freshly bought things, new and unworn by anyone. After so long, Chikusa knew his tastes perfectly well. "So which of us will wear this?" he asked playfully, mind able to go both ways, and yet he knew, even before Chikusa raised an eyebrow, on what body such garments would go on. They were all his size, too, measured perfectly. The thigh-high stockings would cling snugly, he had no doubt, maybe as much as the pair of sheer lace briefs. Where the white lacy gauntlets had come from was anybody's guess; they befitted a new bride more than anything. How delightful that they'd be sullied down in a dungeon meant for fetishes. The cincher was a little bigger, but, then again, that was what the strings were for. It would feel satisfying as it was tightened around his waist. Then there was the delicate lace choker, delicate chains looped through it with pearls weighing them down. And then...

Mukuro paused, some of his interest and satisfaction souring. The broad rectangle of lace that had been set onto the table as well was by far the most unassuming of the whole lot. Sure, it was thicker in width than the choker, and yet it had nothing else to distinguish it. To anyone else, perhaps their gaze would have skipped over it entirely without recognition. Mukuro knew better. He knew a blindfold when he saw one.

If he recognized Mukuro's displeasure, which he surely had to, Chikusa made no mention of it. All he did was watch Mukuro silently from the corner of his eye. "Please check it to your satisfaction," was all he said before straightening slightly, a movement which dislodged Mukuro. Well, he'd been planning to move away regardless. As Mukuro stepped to the side, Chikusa took the remaining bag. "I'm going to go change," he continued. Normally, that was the exact sort of word which would have Mukuro's attention beeline straight towards him. Seeing his subordinates in new clothing never failed to give him a sliver of satisfaction, at the very _least_.

Right then, however, all he could bother was a dismissive wave and a smirk. "I look forward to what you choose," he said, holding the expression in place until Chikusa had disappeared. A small folding screen was set to the side, allowing the perfect kind of impromptu dressing room where the privacy could be invaded at a moment's notice. No doubt that was the point. With Chikusa out of sight, the soft rustling of clothing signifying that he was changing as he said he would, Mukuro turned his attention back down to the lace outfit which had been displayed for him. As he did so, he frowned.

Perhaps others would say he was being nonsensical for such a reaction. He could be bound, handcuffed, wrapped up utterly and completely, and that was fine with him. A blindfold was much tamer by comparison, yet Mukuro hated the idea of it even more than anything else. To be without sight, as an illusionist, was to be without power. That was what their entire skill _relied_ on. Even more than that, perhaps... He couldn't bear to be oblivious to what was going on around him. He couldn't _stand_ to be blind and let someone else sneak up on him. If he had Ken's nose or ears, maybe it wouldn't have been such a loathsome sensation, but he didn't. At least, not in his regular body.

He'd hated Vendicare Prison for more reasons than one.

Yet, rather stupidly, he'd put himself into a corner. Chikusa had already _asked_ if there were any boundaries to bear in mind. In that moment, Mukuro thought rather bitterly of him to not be so observant as to piece together and realize that he didn't want this. How dare he be so reckless with this of all things.

It was while he was in the middle of pondering if he could seduce his subordinate into forgetting that he'd ever said anything when a click echoed throughout the room. Tugged out of his thoughts, Mukuro turned on his heel and away from the table to level his stare back to the folding screen. A jolt of warmth immediately shot down his spine and into the pit of his stomach.

A long black corset clung to Chikusa's already stick thin body, with bronze latches on the front which shined. A similar color accented the top and bottom of it, a detail which helped draw attention to the suspenders on either side with their own black cloth and warm metal. The whole thing helped distinguish it from the black button-up and trousers Chikusa wore. That which was responsible for the clack he'd just heard were the high heel boots Chikusa now had on, glimmering buttons lacing up the front that ended right beneath Chikusa's knees. Considering how long his legs were, that was still a considerable amount of leather.

On top of his head lay a leather beanie which still crumpled as well as anything. If there was a crackle of warmth in his chest, if it were fondness, Mukuro was more than willing to ignore it and pretend he didn't feel it at all.

"My," he purred, a shudder going pleasantly up his spine with each clack of Chikusa's heels as the taller man strode closer to him, "just for me, then?"

Once again, Chikusa didn't answer right away. Instead, he waited until he was right before Mukuro. He reached out, taking him gently by the wrist. Ah, of course. With lazily lidded eyes, he watched as his subordinate peeled off the gloves with his teeth, plush lips pressing into the leather. "I had to learn to walk in heels," Chikusa muttered around the leather his teeth were still lightly digging into.

A chuckle rolled out of Mukuro's lips. "Such a trial," he said, eyes locked on the way Chikusa's lips shifted the further along his hand the glove slid. He didn't bother to say such a paltry lie such as _you didn't need to_. He liked being spoiled, especially when that came in the form of his subordinate who was most disinclined to needless effort. Getting Chikusa to do work of any sort was, in its own way, a treat as much as the lace was. Certainly it made the act of his gloves being removed feel not so bad.

Mukuro was vain, for good reason. He knew he had been blessed with a good face: a fine jaw, long lashes, mismatched eyes which captivated people with their deep color in a way that had nothing to do with any of his many impressive abilities. Still, his vanity wasn't the reason why he was so loathe to reveal the scars scattered across his hands. Rather, scars told stories. That was a lesson he'd learned early on, from a variety of sources. There was Ken's scar, hinting at the experiments he'd had to go through where the skin over his face had to be peeled back for access to what connected mouth to nose and all the senses associated with such. Lancia had his own, inked over as a mark of pride back when he'd still had pride to hold. Xanxus' were of betrayal, and Tsunayoshi Sawada's were of his own trials.

Needless to say, Mukuro's were most like Ken's than anything else, and he wasn't inclined to reveal any part of his story to wandering eyes. Still, as so often happened, his subordinates were the exceptions. Ken's interest in it was purely shallow, although he probably knew on some level what a true treat it was. He simply liked the feel of nails scraping against his scalp.

Leave it to Chikusa to take much more meaning to it. It showed in the way he allowed the glove to drop, discarded without a second thought, and his lips ghosted softly against the newly bared flesh. Letting out a long slow breath, Mukuro watched the way that mouth journeyed over his skin as if mapping out something entirely new. Chikusa, he knew, valued this as a sign of privilege, and one that only he was allowed to witness.

It was such a simple reward, really. Mukuro could allow this much for one of his most loyal subordinates.

Besides, while it wasn't something he could really call one of his fetishes, he had to admit that he liked the sensation too. What he lacked in any particular talents as a holdover from the Estraneo, Chikusa made up for it in spades with his attention to detail. Even while Mukuro watched, he took note of when his leader reacted in any way to a particular spot brushed against on his hand, only to return to it later with a soft kiss or a graze of his teeth against a scar. Without having to look, he reached over with his free hand to hook his fingers into Mukuro's other glove, and tugged that off as well. Then the whole thing started all over again, only on a different hand, with different scars.

By the end of it, Mukuro wasn't... overcome with lust, only agitated with energy bubbling up his spine. "Chikusa," he murmured, eyes slits as he watched the other. Chikusa's gaze flickered up to him, absorbing the silent impatience in his face. There wasn't a response, at least from his mouth. Instead, he allowed Mukuro's hand to slip from his grip. His own ventured upwards, sliding right underneath his open jacket so that he could push it off of Mukuro's arms and down his arms. Still there was that same purposeful slowness. No rush. As the cloth crumpled down his limbs, Chikua's head came closer, their noses brushing. Mukuro's eyes fluttered shut for a brief second, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, but the kiss he was expecting didn't come. Chikusa seemed utterly content with merely sharing his breath until he heard the soft thump of his jacket as it hit the floor. _Then_ he moved, still close to him as he slid down into a crouch on the precarious balance that high heels came with.

He'd had to have been practicing. That was the only explanation for how he was able to do it so smoothly, with his legs parting so nicely. He made quite a sight that way, his head level with Mukuro's belt, but he ignored that part. Instead, his hands slipped underneath his shirt- the next thing to be removed. By no means was the room cold, so there was no explaining the cool chill to Chikusa's fingers as he slid them slowly up Mukuro's stomach. He shivered lightly, unable to fight his own bodily reactions to such mundane trivialities no matter how much he'd fought. (And he was always fighting them, constantly.) Chikusa's mouth was much warmer, his plush lips breaking through the cold as he pressed them against the now taut muscles that were his to explore. It was the same thing as he'd just done to Mukuro's hands, only in an entirely different way. Instead of exploring everything all at once, he followed the crinkling retreat of his shirt with his mouth. New skin was explored the moment it was exposed to air, and every twitch or roll of his muscles was licked in response. By the time his shirt was up to his arms, Mukuro's entire torso had been warmed by that hot breath, soft tongue, and lush lips. Even worse, Chikusa purposefully didn't touch the places one would expect- that one would _want_ to be touched. Mukuro's nipples were erect; there wasn't any point in denying otherwise. His body twitched as cloth rolled over them, a sharp sensation of pleasure hitting him at the contrast of cool room temperature and Chikusa's breath. It was made worse in the brief moment that the shirt went over his head, where there was only the rest of his senses to rely on and every single one was focused on Chikusa's proximity to him.

Then it was gone, and with it Chikusa's mouth so close to Mukuro's chest. Instead, he'd drifted back down into a crouch, and his clever fingers were working now on undoing the boots which Mukuro himself wore. It'd been long enough; Mukuro finally had to speak up. "You're not whipping the pants right off of me?" he asked, smirking for all that he enjoyed the careful way Chikusa adjusted his knee to rest against a shoulder. Clearly he didn't want to bother to move to a couch where Mukuro could sit down and remove his boots that way.

Chikusa didn't look at him, absorbed in his task but not absorbed enough to refrain from a reply. "It'll be less troublesome... to remove your pants if your boots are off first." With Mukuro's knee braced against him, he gave a tug and removed the boot from its place. "Stay still." There it was, the first order of the day. He'd been wondering if his subordinate would ever take the lead. That amusement was enough to sate Mukuro long enough for Chikusa to remove his boots, and then move onto taking care of his belt. With his fingers came his mouth again, lingering first on the way his hip bone pressed out against his skin before gifting the same to his thighs as his pants and the underwear beneath it were drawn downwards. His mouth's journey didn't end there. As with the gloves and shirt before it, he followed the pants all the way to the end, lavishing attention down across the curve of his knee and onto the straight line of his calf. For half a moment, Mukuro thought he might go completely onto his hands and knees- kiss his feet while he was down there. It was a tempting image... One almost enough to make him want to turn the tables on the two of them.

There was nothing else quite as satisfying, in his opinion, than his subordinate's utter worship of him. There was no pleasure any better.

It was almost a disappointment when, instead of following the pleasant mental image that had formed in Mukuro's mind, Chikusa straightened up again and his legs drew together once more. In contrast to the usual dullness which glazes over his eyes, a hunger was in his stare as it roamed up from Mukuro's legs to the top of him. He was completely bare now, all of him exposed for Chikusa to see- even the half-formed arousal inbetween his legs and the aching at his chest. Never one to feel shame, Mukuro only smirked and rolled his head to the side, well aware of how it would look for his hair to slink across his skin. "Satisfied?" he purred, watching as Chikusa's eyes flicked up to meet his.

"No," was the answer, and Mukuro had to laugh. Perhaps Chikusa's best and most endearing trait was his refreshing honesty, and how he always cut straight to the point. There weren't many other thing in the world so reliable. His subordinate allowed him the moment of mirth, thinking who knew what thoughts that were shielded behind that lovely dark stare, before he spoke up again. "Hand me the underwear."

Mukuro's eyes glittered a little in interest. "Do you want to use me as a doll?" he asked, amusement lacing his voice. He didn't go against the order, however, new an experience as it was. Chikusa had only ever made requests before. At any rate, turnabout was fair play. How many times had he used Chikusa and Ken as his own personal dress up dolls as well? Certainly at one point it had been... "pure", manifesting as a simple desire to pick the uniforms he liked best on the two people he saw almost every single day. As they'd all grown older, of course, and hormones had gotten even to Mukuro, well. He liked to see what different outfits brought out in his subordinates, and what new aspect of their appearance shined through.

As far as he knew, Chikua had never cared for them on the same level despite the fact that his beanie collection was almost a fearsome thing, especially considering how often they moved from place to place. That Kokuyo Land remained a quiet getaway even these days was an exception. Regardless, his eyes grew a little darker with Mukuro's compliance. His fingers lingered against his for a heartbeat, lace held inbetween them, before he lowered himself again. Honestly, he didn't really need any help in this aspect of getting dressed. He could have done it himself. Yet it seemed to satisfy Chikusa. Really, it was an amusing thing to dally with himself, so Mukuro played nice with one foot sliding into a hole and then another. Chikusa made sure to keep his fingers close to his skin, his knuckles brushing teasingly against calves up to thigh and rising with the action. His fingers were still tucked past the band when they made it up to Mukuro's hips, and he couldn't deal with his own patience anymore.

Leaning in closer to breach the air that separated them, Mukuro let his smirk curve against Chikusa's ear and felt his subordinate pause. "Chikusa," he murmured, breath shuddering along delicate flesh. "I don't want to wait anymore." His hand found the other's wrist, gently guiding it around the curve of Mukuro's hips where his arousal was pressing against the tight confines of lace. The pressure had only, if anything, made it worse. Quietly, purposefully, he moaned straight into Chikusa's ears and rewarded with the catch of his breath. "Touch me."

Chikusa's head nudged against his, breathing him in. Beneath the lace, his fingers traced circles against the most sensitive skin of his pelvis. Yet right as he was certain he'd won, Chikusa's _other_ hand slid out from the lace with the band pinched in his fingers and- _snap_. Mukuro jolted, less from pain- certainly he'd had worse- and more from simple shock. Honestly, the worst part was the _embarrassment_ as a startled noise slipped out from his mouth. As he was recovering from his own surprise, Chikusa's hand moved quick to slip out of his grasp and, thus, out from his underwear. Needless to say, this left Mukuro's cock in a rather awkward position pressed up against himself. He ignored it. His own pride was more important. Pulling back, his face pulled into a scowl.

Either it didn't come out right, or his subordinate didn't care. Considering it was Chikusa, Mukuro was more inclined to put his money on the second option, although he always cared when it came to _him_. Instead, the bespectacled man took in his expression before slowly glancing back to the table. "Cincher next," he said simply, as if nothing had happened and Mukuro hadn't tried to seduce him but a moment ago.

Truly, he had to be losing his touch if he couldn't get Chikusa to react. Then again, when Chikusa was willful, he certainly was. It'd be a challenge, then. In the meantime, Mukuro kept going and tried to act as though he wasn't sulking perhaps a little bit. Whether he was or wasn't, Chikusa's reaction was the same. He focused on wrapping the cincher around his waist, letting the firmer bits of it rest just so. If he wanted, he could have drawn it quite tight. It wasn't the first time Mukuro had worn such a thing, and he was familiar with the pull of it. Yet Chikusa was almost _gentle_ as he ventured behind Mukuro to tighten the strings. He took his time with them, making sure that Mukuro was acutely aware of their slow pressure, before tying them neatly. "Did you give it a bow?" he drawled, trying to needle a response out from him.

Still no answer. "Gloves," was the next order, and Mukuro passed them along with the urge to tap his feet. He didn't, of course. He wasn't a _child_. Besides... Once Chikusa was touching his skin again, it was easy to forget some of his prior annoyance with being essentially rebuked. Oh, certainly, it was agonizing, and prodded at some of his own impatience, but Mukuro could wait. He'd waited longer. Right now, it was more his own expectations that he was battling against, waiting for his subordinate to let loose with his own control and slowness as he'd done so in the past with his fingers at Mukuro's throat. Instead, Chikusa adjusted each of his fingers with reverent care so that they could slide through the bridal gauntlets. As they were pulled up along Mukuro's arms, they reached up all the way to his elbows. He wore them quite well, if he was being frank. More than those, however, what looked as though it belonged was Chikusa's lips as he pressed them once more against his hands. There was no repeat of when they'd first been stripped, only a couple of lingering kisses to his knuckles and fingertips... but that was enough.

As Chikusa pulled away, Mukuro quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Choker next?" he asked, hazarding an easy guess. There were only two (three) things left on the table, and Chikusa was an orderly type for all that he did and where he stayed. Sure enough, there was a small noise of confirmation. Besides the corset, the choker was probably the most expensive thing in the outfit that Chikusa had arranged for him. Upon closer inspection, the chains which drooped from the choker itself weren't made of cheap metal, and he could tell with a discerning eye that the pearls were the real deal. It was the kind of thing which could easily become dirty or tangled, yet Chikusa handled it well. Wordlessly, he tilted Mukuro's chin up and his head back, forcing his throat to be bared. Carefully, he pressed the choker against that vulnerable skin. The chains rested coolly against his skin, a new if faint weight where each movement reminded Mukuro of the choker's presence. Really, he once more had to admire how much care Chikusa lavished onto him. By the time his hands pulled away, the choker fit snugly around his neck and yet didn't, funnily enough, actually choke.

The stockings were what he expected next, of course. He realized that his expectation was amiss when Chikusa fell into another brief lapse of silence, watching him carefully. "Blindfold," he said at last, and Mukuro went still.

His pride didn't want to reveal this weakness, even to Chikusa. More than anything else, he didn't want to reveal it. Yet to stay silent and complicit would mean that he would have to confront that very same weakness. The conflicting desires waged war within his head. In the meantime, all he did, all he could do, was stare at Chikusa with shadowed eyes. "Chikusa," he murmured in warning, mentally demanding his subordinate to understand without anything else said.

Perhaps, after years of forging a connection where Chikusa willingly gave his pliant body over to possession, it worked as Mukuro wanted it. Perhaps, after years of working so hard to stay by Mukuro's side, he understood on his own terms. Either way, his dull distant stare gained a peculiar softness to it that only was ever directed to Mukuro. Gently, he reached up and curled his fingers along Mukuro's cheek. "It's lace," he said softly, no other explanation. Yet in the same way that Chikusa had so simply understood him, he too understood what his subordinate meant with only those two words. Lace was not the sturdiest of materials, no matter the color it was. White was especially prone to becoming transparent in some way, especially once thin and delicate enough. Both was true of the simple strip of cloth laying there on the table, waiting. As Mukuro's gaze flicked down towards it, he couldn't deny that he could see the table past the sheer material. In that aspect, perhaps it was a blindfold in name only, and more akin to a mask which he could wear. If he thought of it that way, perhaps...

Chikusa waited patiently for any other words or signs of protest. When none came after a few long minutes, he didn't make any other order of Mukuro. Instead, he leaned down himself, fingers folding around the delicate material, and glanced back to him. After enough minutes passed by, he realized his ever loyal servant would go no further unless he was told to, so Mukuro let out a sigh. "It makes no difference to me," he said airily, trying to dismiss any signs of trepidation that had shown through earlier. Chikusa's lips shifted slightly, something different but which wasn't _quite_ a smile.

Despite lace's lovely and delicate appearance, it felt a little rough to Mukuro's skin as Chikusa pressed it against his eyes. Cotton was softer, although that couldn't really be surprising. The bumps inherent to the design, necessary for the various delicate intricacies of it, meant it was only to be accepted. With Chikusa so close, he was tempted to close his eyes , but resisted. While he would never admit it, a paranoid and irrational part of his mind was convinced that if he were to close his eyes then he would never be able to open them again. Not with the pressure that was winding around his head, Chikusa's fingertips brushing against his hair as he tied the blindfold in place. It only took a moment before he was stepping back, and Mukuro blinked. True enough, there was no reason to fear about his sight being stolen from him. The world was covered in a faint fog, the material still more than apparent, but it wasn't _gone_. With the material so thin and the minuscule gaps many, he was able to see the room still as it was. Thanks to Chikusa's dark shape, from hair to clothing, he could _especially_ see him. He wondered for a brief moment if that had been a deciding factor for the outfit his subordinate had chosen, and not only because his tall frame looked tantalizingly delicious in it.

At ease once more, Mukuro smirked. "Garters, next?" he asked, hand twitching in preparation to reach over, but stopped when Chikusa shook his head.

"No." His hand was suddenly against Mukuro's bare chest, pinky brushing against a perk nipple. " _Sit_." Without any further warning, he was shoved back, tripping over his own feet to collapse harshly against the couch, and Mukuro laughed, allowing it. Once he stopped bouncing against the comfortable cushions, he immediately reached behind him to dig his fingers into the back to allow himself an anchor. He knew very well what he looked like with his spine arching and legs slowly parting with the movement.

"Is this better?" he drawled, masking his annoyance with the strip of lace over his eyes. Even if he could still technically see, details were fuzzy. There was no way he could see if Chikusa's expression had changed at the little display before him. At least his hearing was still more than fine. The little things were what gave away Chikusa's feelings more often than not anyway. A prime example was the slow exhale Mukuro's ears caught, and his smirk only widened. Good.

Chikusa's heels clicked against the floor as he stepped closer, and it was a disappointment when he stepped onto the rug which muffled that lovely sound. Something slithered against the tabletop, and Mukuro knew what it was even before he discerned the shape past the blindfold. The stockings were finally within Chikusa's grip. As he got down to his knees, breath dusting over his leader's knees, Mukuro allowed himself to relax away from the pose he'd put himself into. He could be generous, when he cared to be. This allowed Chikusa to manhandle his legs easier, rolling the stockings up his foot, past his ankle, and slide them up to his knee- a reverse of what he'd done to undress him. Despite the momentary display of roughness he'd showed off only a second ago, Chikusa was back to his usual slow movements as he finished the very last piece of Mukuro's outfit. No kisses this time, but the same ghost of a touch that was so mindful of Mukuro's body. When he finally finished with both stockings, he didn't move for a moment. Instead he stayed right where he was, hair brushing against Mukuro's thigh and his breath warming the lace along his leg.

Around them, the air was charged with... _something_ , strange and enticing. This wasn't the first time that Chikusa had ever been on his knees before Mukuro, filled with a soft reverence that put most religious men to shame. Yet their roles were reversed, or at least they were supposed to be. Even while he was on his knees, Chikusa kept his body positioned just so as to trap Mukuro's leg, and he knew that his subordinate would no doubt get rough again if he tried to move. Really, that was as tempting to try as anything else.

Before he could make the decision to turn things around, try to move, or play at obedience, Chikusa moved his head. His hair slid silkily along what of Mukuro's skin was still bare, and the blindfold around his eyes couldn't blind him to the depth in that pale stare. "You're beautiful," he murmured softly.

A chuckle rolled through Mukuro's chest. "You don't think I'm beautiful other times?" he teased, knowing full well that Chikusa found him a sight no matter if he was dressed in lace or covered in blood.

Sure enough... "It's a different kind of beauty." That said, Chikusa removed his hand from Mukuro's legs, and he felt the pressure of his hands sinking into the cushions on either side of his leg more than he saw the action happen. Pushing himself up onto his feet, Chikusa wobbled only for a moment in unsteadiness. Well, even if he practiced, Mukuro supposed that things like that happened even to professionals from time to time. Only one foot stayed on the floor for long. The other leg bent, knee pressing into the couch right inbetween Mukuro's legs. In around the same area, his cock pulsed slightly in anticipation. Chikusa's knee was only a hairs breadth from the bulge that showed plainly in white lace, close enough that Mukuro could imagine it brushing against him all too easily. Typically, Chikusa didn't indulge him so soon. Instead, looming over him, Chikusa stayed right where he was in his precarious position. It couldn't have been easy, lanky as he was and positioned right on the edge, but he managed without resting his hand against the couch for any support.

Instead, they drifted to Mukuro's body, only a fraction warmer than they had been when they had been in the process of dressing him up. One settled right in the middle of his chest, pinky brushing against one nipple and causing Mukuro to twitch. He could almost feel his heart beating straight into Chikusa's palm, steady and waiting and wanting. The other hand found Mukuro's face again, sliding against his cheek until his hair was brushing over those bony knuckles. If there was a purpose to this other than admiring the state he was in- all in lace, questionably blindfolded, nipples pert and cock straining- than Mukuro couldn't really fathom it. He suppose he didn't really need to. All he had to do was bask in the attention, smirk more than smug as Chikusa worshiped his body with roaming hands alone.

He wasn't entirely sure how long the two of them stayed that way on the couch, him indulging in the slow soft touches, Chikusa finding his own pleasure who-knew-where. It had to be a long time, that much he knew. When Chikusa finally pushed away to get off of the couch and stand upright again, Mukuro found his legs were aching with the desire to move. He stretched again, legs trembling and arms aching. It was more for his own benefit than to entice, honestly, but he knew he could hit both goals with one movement. Still no reaction, or at least not one that was obvious enough to make it past the lace blockade. Chikusa merely drew his fingers down Mukuro's thigh, lingering. The lace really seemed to have caught his attention... or maybe it was more the act itself. Chikusa's kinks, Mukuro had come to notice, often revolved more around that than anything. "Next time," Chikusa said quietly, words snapping Mukuro out of his idle thoughts, "I might try something else..." His head tilted to the side, barely. Mukuro couldn't even be sure if his hair moved with a gesture so slight. "Rope... Shibari, maybe."

Even before he'd finished the sentence, something began to slither up his legs and towards his open palms. Glancing down, Chikusa found the rope which had suddenly materialized out from the ether and possessed of a will as they reached for him. Mukuro's smirk was expectant. "Why wait for next time?" he drawled, his illusions as good as the real thing. Certainly, more than once, they'd come in handy during more intimate moments. Sometimes that had meant something as simple as lube, to make sure none of them unduly injured themselves. Other times it was a little bit spicier, like a collar to jerk tight against Ken's neck. Rope was quite simple a trick to pull out of his hat.

Chikusa wound the rope slowly around one hand, gaze just out of sight. Mukuro wanted to think that the silence was considering, if not assenting. Certainly the spark that went down to his cock when Chikusa reached for him was one of anticipation. Those lovely fingers slide through his hair, nails against his scalp, and his eyes fluttered. He wasn't surprised at all when, out of nowhere, Chikusa wound his grip in tighter and gave a sharp _twist_. Mukuro's head followed suit, body wrought tight against the couch. He was moaning, aching, and throbbing all the harder with that delicious pain tugging at his scalp. When he peered from between his lashes, he shuddered all the harder from how _intensely_ Chikusa's gaze was focused on him. Right on him, and no one and nothing else.

Sometimes, watching someone was an art form, and Chikusa was a master of his work.

What Mukuro wanted more than anything else was for his subordinate to finally give in, and give into the relief both of them surely were seeking out. Yet after a few seconds of savoring the sounds which were falling out of his leader's mouth, Chikusa spoke up again. "I said... for the next time." His fingers gave another, stronger twist to draw out another lewd noise that Mukuro was more than fine with giving him. "And maybe." With that said, he let go. Mukuro was expecting a little more teasing, careful touches or pointed pressure, and yet Chikusa turned his back on him with his fingers on the buckles of his corset. "I'm fine with this much," he murmured over his shoulder. "Thank you, Mukuro-sama."

Caught completely off-guard, Mukuro blinked for a few moments. "Only that?" he asked, utterly aware of his own tantalizing position: sprawled out on the couch, his hair a mess, skin flush in more than a few suggestive spots, nipples perked up, his cock bulging up through his lacey underwear in need of attention. In the past, he'd been able to make people's knees wobble (men, women, and anyone else) by only a simple fluttering of his eyelashes and a smirk. Had he truly overused the effect of his deviously good looks on his most intelligent subordinate to the point that it no longer worked as it was supposed to even when Mukuro was in _this_ kind of state?

Clearly, that had to be the reason why Chikusa didn't even looked at him and only tilted his chin up idly as he considered the ceiling. "Ah..." It was a dull thoughtful noise. "Yeah... Only that." Looking over his shoulder back at him, he blinked slowly. "Is that a problem, Mukuro-sama?"

The devious little shit. Sometimes Mukuro forgot that Chikusa could be like this. He was so much more subtle than his troublesome apprentice's big mouth, and more planned than Ken's occasional clumsy outbursts. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing, with his stare roaming lazily up along Mukuro's body. Frowning (not pouting, certainly not, although maybe a little), Mukuro narrowed his eyes accusingly at him. "I think you've forgotten something."

Chikusa's lashes lowered slightly, adding something else new and attractive to the gaze Mukuro could only faintly see. "Do you want something, Mukuro-sama...?"

So that was the game that he wanted to play. Now that he knew the rules, Mukuro eased up and drew his legs upwards until his heels could rest on the edge of the couch cushions. "I want to be touched," he drawled, fingers curling around the outside of his thighs to add to the image he was presenting. A little cherry on top of what he knew Chikusa himself wanted. Sure enough, there was that low slow breath again. Mukuro grinned triumphantly, listening to Chikusa's heels thumping closer to him against the rug. His breath slid against his knees, and then down further.

"Just... this once." Chikusa's lips drew together along the smooth skin on the inside of Mukuro's thigh, and he shivered at the kiss. "Since it's our first time..."

"Hardly our first," he replied back, wiggling his hips a little to help the hands that had found their way to the band of his underwear. They tugged, then slipped, over the curve of his ass. Lace had hardly been much of an obstacle, but he still sighed as he felt freedom against bare skin. "Although it's usually the other way around." Chikusa and Ken had their own qualities to bring to the bedroom, Mukuro had learned over the years they'd become so intimate with one another underneath the sheets. With Ken, his overwhelming roughness and brutally fast pace were the appeal. A hot snarl into the crook of Mukuro's neck, the frantic thrusts of an animal, and, all the while, the threat of razor sharp claws and teeth loomed near. No matter what, however, Ken was ever so careful to never draw blood unless with was Mukuro's voice calling upon him to do it. For a boost to his ego, there was rarely anyone better. Fittingly, this put Chikusa on the opposite end on their more regular nights. There was something sweetly rewarding about drawing expression and flush to that dull expressionless face, and pulling out that voice which his subordinate seemed so careful to lock away.

Then again, he contemplated, moaning as lips wrapped around his balls, there was a satisfaction in having Chikusa of all people put in effort for him and him alone, too. 

* * *

From that point on, the clubs became a regular site, although not a daily sort of thing. They weren't even monthly. Mukuro indulged them, and thus his subordinate, on a whim depending on all sorts of various little things. Sometimes, the reasons were even so simple as that they were doing nothing better that day. It was best, in his opinion, to keep the schedule a mystery. Chikusa never complained about the erratic decisions. Of course he didn't. All he needed was an hour's warning before they headed off, at the very least, and that was more because of practicality than anything else. The only time Mukuro sprung a visit to one such club with no heads up, Chikusa had frowned at him with his lips pursed. "I didn't bring anything, Mukuro-sama," he'd muttered with displeasure wound through his otherwise dull tone. The use of illusions to replace his usual tools, which hadn't changed yet up to that point, had been soundly vetoed. It hadn't mattered how smoothly Mukuro had delivered his line on what _actually_ constituted reality. Chikusa had refused to go forward, and forcing him wasn't part of the fun. Well, he couldn't blame him for that, he supposed. Illusions were useful for all manner of things, from the fantastical to the mundane, yet there was something innately satisfying in using something that was real all on its own merit.

The only downside was how glacial change was brought about during their visits. For far too long, Chikusa repeated very much of the same things that he'd done during their first little session: the dressing down, the dressing up, slow touches that all added together until Mukuro was aching impatiently. True to his word, Chikusa refrained from laying a helping hand on him or his arousal again. Instead, he completely ignored it, and any complaints that came with. It didn't matter what kind of tone he used on him, or how seductive he stared. Even frustrated demands were firmly ignored.

The simplest solution was plainly apparent: for Mukuro to take care of his need himself. Chikusa had never made a demand that he not, even within the club's room where he was expressly permitted this little bit of power. He'd even shrugged when asked upfront about doing it (or, rather, Mukuro had made a sly insinuation he knew he subordinate understood, and gotten an apathetic response for his trouble). Nothing was stopping him.

Nothing except, perhaps, his own pride.

To surrender would be to give in, to lose- thoughts that were normally ridiculous to think about in connection with Chikusa. On a practical level, Mukuro knew that the other didn't like to lose, and could manifest a strong brilliant Rain Flame better than most mafia when he felt the need to. Yet he'd never displayed such to _him_. It was as tantalizing as much as it was frustrating. Needless to say, he couldn't lose either, even if that meant confined arousal stirring impatiently inbetween his legs.

Which was how, on one of their little visits to the club locked away from all prying eyes, Mukuo came to settled directly onto Chikusa's lap.

"You've been so patient, Chikusa," he purred, close enough that the lace blindfold was hardly any trouble at all. "Don't you think you deserve something since we've been going on these little ventures for so long?" Half a lie, half a truth- exactly as he liked it.

Did his subordinate buy it? Even this close, able to see into those pale and deep eyes, Mukuro wasn't entirely sure he could tell. Another soft breath rustled out from inbetween plump lips, and the side of a finger traced up along Mukuro's calf. It'd been easy to nestle right onto Chikusa's lap, and so nicely too. "What do you want, then?" he asked quietly, and Mukuro chuckled.

"It's not like you to be so oblivious," he hummed, rolling his hips down against the faint arousal he as sure he felt. To his satisfaction, Chikusa's hips twitched up against his. It was impossible to contain his smirk, so Mukuro didn't bother to try. Then again, he rarely did. "This is a reward for you, like I said. Accept it, won't you?"

From his calf, up to his hip, and a thumb swept across the band of his underwear and where skin disappeared under it. "And what's the reward...?" Chikusa's head tilted to the side slightly, as if he needed to really ask. They both knew what was being put onto the table here.

Still, if that was the game that he wanted to play, then Mukuro was more than fine with driving home the point a little more. Smirking purposefully, he wrapped his fingers around Chikusa's bony wrist and began to guide it along his hips. Slender fingers were dragged across soft skin. Even prepared for it, Mukuro still felt flickers of electricity dart through him with each centimeter passed and at ever accidental scrape of Chikusa's nails. Around his hips, and down the curve of his ass until Chikusa's fingers were right down the middle. Mukuro's eyes glittered playfully. "What else?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "The end goal." Certainly it was the end goal of any other kind of encounter which involved lace, lingering touches on bare skin, and a BDSM club.

Yet Chikusa's impassive gaze gave no hint that he necessarily agreed with the statement, impossible to read as always. Still, as Mukuro's hand drifted away from that skinny wrist, his fingers began to lazily stroke along his rear. "You'll have to be more clear," Chikusa murmured, lazily leaning back against the couch that was in this room, too. He rarely chose ones with beds, Mukuro noted. "I can't give you what you want if you don't tell me clearly what it is."

Mukuro's smirk twitched a little. Those same words, an encouragement of telling him _all_ in detail what was wanted, had come out of his mouth more than once when he was teasing his beloved subordinates. Whether it was through Ken's snarls or Chikusa's silence, he'd used the phrase plenty. Was this payback for all the times Chikusa had been forced to gasp out his desires? Well then, he'd never thought the other could be so petty in that case...

If that was what he wanted, then Mukuro would be plenty fine with going along with it. Hands nestled along Chikusa's shoulders, Mukuro leaned in until their breath was indistinguishable from one another and their lips grazed. "Fuck me," he whispered softly, one hand sliding upwards until it curled around the back of Chikusa's neck. "I want you to fuck me until I'm cumming all over myself and this beautiful lace you got me, Chikusa." Pulling back, he tried to peer past his blindfold to see if Chikusa's gaze had gone any darker with lust. Regardless, confident that he'd sent the message across, Mukuro smirked. "Was that clear enough, then?"

His guess was confirmed at the sound of a long slow breath. Despite that tried and true sign of Chikusa's arousal along with the bulge Mukuro could feel snuggly pressing up against his own, however, his hand fell away from Mukuro's ass. The disappointment didn't last long. "There's lube in the bag. Get it."

"Prepared, as always." For all his relaxed drawl, Mukuro wondered just how long that lube had been waiting there and if they could have done this sooner. Surely Chikusa would never have been able to tell that today of all days was when Mukuro would come onto him so strongly. Whatever. Regretful and eager all at once, he slid off of Chikusa's lap to get onto his feet. He made sure to make a show of his walking away, hips swaying enticingly. If he bent over a little more than was really necessary to give Chikusa a wonderful view, well, wasn't he just doing his due diligence as a sexual partner? Sure enough, the lube was placed in a simple little pocket within the bag which normally carried the outfits Chikusa brought to these days. It was a little hard to find, when he was partially blind, but Mukuro managed after only a little bit of delay. As he turned around with prize in hand, Chikusa spoke up.

"Sit on the table." Mukuro paused, raising an eyebrow behind his blindfold, and Chikusa only stared back at him. Oh ho. So he wanted a show before the main event, was that it? Soft laughter rolling in his chest, Mukuro slowly strode around the coffee table until it was between the two of them. Distantly, he wondered if Chikusa would use any of the restraints which were built into the furniture before immediately dismissing the idea. No, instead, if it was on the table, then he was sure that...

Carefully, feeling his way more than seeing it, Mukuro slid one knee onto the table and crawled onto it. "Since when were you a voyeur?" he asked, smirking with a swing of his legs until he was seated properly on polished wood. Legs spread wide, he wondered distantly if the lace was thin enough to see the way his ass was spread out. "You should have told me sooner." It could have opened up so many interesting possibilities... or maybe none at all. Even for whatever kink Chikusa had, this whole arrangement showed that he was as territorial as anything else. Perhaps even as possessive as Mukuro himself was.

There was no answer. All Chikusa did was adjust himself on the couch, head lolled to the side limply even as his stare seemed to go straight through Mukuro. After some length, he spoke up. "If you want something... You need to prepare yourself." Well, that was a clear message.

But perhaps not clear enough. Even while he was drawing one leg up, making sure that every bulge and curve lace stretched over was in plain sight, Mukuro purred, "Won't you have to be a little more exact? What is it that I'm to be preparing myself for?"

Another quiet breath, but Mukuro recognized this one as uniquely different than the long slow exhales of arousal. This was shorter, faster, and, while he couldn't see it, Mukuro was sure that Chikusa had wrinkled his nose in an attempt to push his glasses further upwards. Chikusa rarely scowled, or made many overt expressions at all. Reading his moods was an art form that only Mukuro and Ken had really mastered thanks to years of coexisting with their quieter companion. Times like this, Mukuro found it to be quite invaluable. "If you don't want to be fucked," Chikusa muttered, almost sullen, "then you can just sit there instead of doing anything."

Glad to finally have gotten a reaction out of him, Mukuro laughed. "Now now, that's not what I said at all." Settling the lube down besides him on the table, he drifts a hand around his ass to pluck at the thin lace that dug into him. "Shall I slide this off, then? You're the one this gift is for, after all."

"No." The response was simple and immediate. After a moment, it seemed to occur to Chikusa that it was best for him to elaborate. "I want you to keep it on while you do it..."

"So it's that kind of play," he purred in response, adjusting his fingers until they were a little further to the middle. Slyly, he began to tug them away from the hole he knew Chikusa was watching patiently. It was a little difficult to manage with the underwear shaped as it was. For the next time this kind of request was made, he'd be sure to suggest that Chikusa get him something a little skimpier. Still, Mukuro was never one to give up. With his underwear scrunched up, and one side dug into tightly with his flesh bulging out on either side... He pulled the lace out of the way, exposing bare skin and the twitching asshole that lace had previously hidden. "Right here, isn't that right?" he asked, trying to push and prod at his subordinate's patience.

No dice again. Chikusa merely made a soft noise in the back of his throat that was the start up to words. "Yes." Well, one word, anyway. Singular.

He could permit that, he supposed. What was most important wasn't Chikusa's words, but the guarantee that his eyes were on Mukuro's body, and nothing else. The lace didn't quite snap back into place as he released it, but it did grind fast and rough in the process. A little bit of roughness, to counter how gentle Chikusa had otherwise been. The lube squeezed out smoothly from the bottle, hardly even a squelch, and it was neither too hot nor cold. Perfect room temperature, oozing against his fingertips. Stretched already, there was no problem with pulling the lace back once more.

Yet where was the fun in diving right into things? Head tilted downwards, hair cascading over his shoulders, Mukuro smirked and softly circled his fingers around his puckered entrance. Even lukewarm as the lube was, just the sensation of it against sensitive nerves had him shudder. Mukuro didn't hold back. He let it rattle through him, parting his lips for the faintest of breaths. How he hoped Chikusa paid attention to every little detail, and stirred just as lightly as he'd been stuck doing throughout every single bit of play. Slowly, he finally slid a single finger inwards, and savored the feel of it: every stretch bit by bit as his own finger parted tight muscle. Few things gave that perfect whisper of pain as stretching did, whether before a battle or before a fuck. He slid his finger in to the second knuckle, finishing with a soft hiss from the mutual feeling of tightness winding around the digit and that same digit prying him open. Like this alone, he figured he could probably ready for it. Certainly he'd had rougher sex with Ken; he knew he could take it. Still, that was clearly not the mood that Chikusa was aiming for... and that wouldn't give him enough time to rile him up, either. So he continued, pumping a lone digit in and out of himself to work tight muscle a little looser. Every grind of those sensitive nerves right at the entrance made him twitch; hopefully Chikusa was enjoying the view. After only a few moments, he paused, finger still partially inside of him, and worked to press another inside. His body fought, because of course it did. It'd been a while since he'd slid anything inside of himself, whether his own fingers or something else. His body had gone right back to status quo. Well, the renewed challenge was part of the fun too, and his body couldn't fight him for long. This part was meant to stretch out, and stretch it did to accommodate another forced intrusion.

A moan that was all the louder rolled out of him. Part of it was the pleasant burn as his body took in a little more. The other part, if he was honest, was the way he could faintly see Chikusa shift away from the couch, and heard the way it settled and shifted in time with the way he leaned forward instead. Yes. _Yes_. Satisfaction jolted through him. More than any bit of performative masturbation, it was knowing Chikusa's eyes were staring at him with that dark intensity that got his cock straining hard against lace. Lips curling in a smirk, Mukuro tossed his head back and sped up the pace. Every scorching bit of pleasure made his hips roll up, aching and eager for more, and he allowed more noises to fall from his lips: gasps and groans and indistinct little noises that were too pleasure-addled to be coherent. With all the ruckus, he couldn't say if Chikusa let out another little aroused breath, or if he leaned forward further. Blinded with lace that was just thick enough, head tilted away, and the sound of his own moans- all those obscured the rest of the room. All he knew was the heady sensation of Chikusa's gaze focused on him, and his ass becoming sloppier with lube as he thrust his fingers inside of himself again and again.

No wonder Chikusa snuck up on him so soundly.

Before he knew it, the other was right inbetween his legs, long fingers sliding alongside his and digging past the tight ring of muscle they were stuck in. Mukuro couldn't describe the gasping strangled noise that tore through his throat, and didn't care to. Why bother, when Chikusa's reach was deeper inside of him and he knew the exact way to twist his fingers? He curled into Chikusa's warmth, eyes wide and lashes brushing against lace. Contrary to the sweet gentleness that he had displayed prior, Chikusa gave him no time to adjust. Instead, he began to rapidly jerk his fingers in and out, bumping against Mukuro's without a care. Not bothering to think, Mukuro matched his pace to him and smirked against his subordinate's jaw. " _Chikusa_ ," he rasped, pulling his one free hand away from the table so that he could instead dig his fingers into Chikusa's back. His nails scraped against the fine material of his shirt, and his knuckles bumped into the suspenders that were there. Before he knew it, those clever fingers had pressed right into his prostate, and Mukuro's hips jerked violently along with his moan.

Holding onto Chikusa while fingering himself was a bit of a challenge. Fortunately, Mukuro was always one to beat such things, and the pleasure was too good to stop for a better position. It was sinful, the way his subordinate could reach into him so easily and play his pleasure so masterfully. There were no complaints from him, only moans. This close, the blindfold barely helped him, as all he could see was a close-up of Chikusa's jaw and throat. That meant every part of him was still focused on his other senses... such as picking up the brush of Chikusa's other hand as he crept it up his pelvis. There was no mistaking the feeling of lace being pulled away, and fingers sliding underneath. For a fiery second, the heat in Mukuro's stomach kicked up all the harder.

 _Snap_. Mukuro jolted again, hissing. There'd been no release, only the snap of a lacy band as Chikusa had adjusted his cock so that it could spring out. He squirmed at the aftershocks of pain, mingling with the pleasure that Chikusa was still driving into him with his fingers alone. "Now where- did you learn that mean trick?" Mukuro gasped out inbetween his own panting, hoping the hot gust of his words dove right into Chikusa's ear. He was given no answer for his troubles. Instead, there was another twist of fingers, and his nails nearly tore straight through his shirt. Writhing with pleasure, he fought against his own moans, aiming for authoriative and failing. "Chikusa, _touch me_ -" He couldn't stand the pressure ratcheting up his cock, throbbing so painfully. If Chikusa would just touch him already, even with the lightest brush of fingertips he knew he'd be tortured with, it'd be better than nothing.

"No." No order, no snap- his word was a simply stated fact, and his free fingers curled around Mukuro's hand before he gave another twist. After all these years, Chikusa knew Mukuro's body about as well as his own. The pleasure only continued to ratchet up, torment and delight both. He couldn't even solve the problem himself. If he let go of Chikusa, then he'd have to brace himself against the table, or go sprawling. Tempting as the plan of action was, he knew better than to assume Chikusa would idly do nothing. All Mukuro could do himself was impatiently move his fingers alongside his, until finally, _finally_ -

His orgasm washed through him, freezing his limbs and body entirely. If there was a description for the noises he made against Chikusa's throat, none of them came to mind as he shuddered through the pleasure. It was like letting out a breath he'd been holding for far too long, lungs aching with sweet air. In this case, it was more than only his lungs. Coming down from his orgasmic high, he faintly noticed that his ass was left gaping with cool air kissing at bare skin. Chikusa had pulled out, taking Mukuro's fingers with him, and even in that moment he was carefully dabbing them clean of lube. Slowly, his underwear was dragging itself back into place, in no particular hurry- it must have been stretched out atrociously. Really, such careful attention afterwards drew mixed feelings out from him normally. Too much gentleness, and one grew weak. At the same time...

Being pampered and worshipped so gently like this felt good, at least while his head was fuzzily somewhere else. He allowed Chikusa to clean up his fingers, moving on next to Mukuro's corset. He hadn't even noticed how his cum had splattered all across the lace, blending in save for its dull shine. "We'll have to get a replacement outfit," Chikusa murmured into Mukuro's hair as he dabbed at the garment with a handkerchief. "The lube will be troublesome to get out from your underwear."

A bit more settled in his own mind, the moment of hazy pleasure having since passed, Mukuro chuckled. "I take it you don't want to deal with going through the hassle of clean up?" he asked teasingly. He knew the quieter boy quite well. How could he not? It was questionable if he had even cleaned any of the lace after their other sessions, instead relying more on careful storage so that they'd be good for the next round. There were a few times they used Laundromats and other such places, whenever they needed to pass off as if they were perfectly fine people who didn't need any investigating... but that had been mostly when they were younger, and child services were a distant, if not particularly major, worry. Mostly because it would be time wasted dealing with them, honestly, and less any threat of them being taken.

Tossing the messy handkerchief carelessly to the side and straight into the bag, Chikusa gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I thought... you would want to try something new at this rate anyway..."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Mukuro had his favorite things to wear, for sure. The Kokuyo uniforms had gone through more than their share of wear, for example, and he'd never stopped looking back at them favorably. Yet variety was the spice of an otherwise ruined and dull life. Part of the fun of dressing up in different uniforms and outfits was seeing what new imagery could be brought up, and what other parts of a person could shine in something entirely new.

Also, frankly, he knew they were all attractive in their beautifully ruined ways that they'd look good in anything, which was a bonus.

Chuckling, Mukuro waited for Chikusa to take a step back, hand sliding from his shoulder. He pushed himself up once he had enough room to do so, feeling his feet settle against the soft rug beneath the table. No doubt it'd been put into place so that any particularly rough business wouldn't ruin the floors. Places like this sold an image, a fantasy, and scraped wooden panels weren't usually part of that. Not for this kind of room, anyway. Crossing one leg over the other, he watched through lacy vision as Chikusa began to undo the buckles to his own corset. "Done already?" he asked, keeping his voice low and relaxed even while he was a little surprised. Their sessions usually dragged on, no doubt a trademark of Chikusa's own lethargic mannerisms and need to savor the experiences he had. Besides, there was something else that had gone ignored. "You didn't complete how your 'gift' was supposed to go." It had only been his fingers, wringing out noise after noise.

Chikusa heaved out a breath as the corset unwound about his middle and the suspenders slipped off of his shoulders. Belatedly, he glanced over to Mukuro. "Ah," he said simply, as if he'd forgotten to turn the stove off. "Well... That's fine, I guess." More than likely it went exactly how he'd wanted, the tease, but, before Mukuro could speak up, Chikusa continued. "You can take off the blindfold now if you want..."

As if he needed to be told twice. Immediately, Mukuro reached up to undo the knot behind his head swiftly. As always, it was a temptation to shred right through it simply by virtue of what it was, but he withheld himself. Even if the corset and underwear were to be replaced, the stockings, gloves, choker, and blindfold were all perfectly serviceable still. Hell, wearing those alone would no doubt be as enticing as if the full set were assembled. There was something to be said for the appearance of accessories, but no sign of the main event. Feeling tension within him ebb away with the slide of lace against his head, Mukuro continued to pursue his point. "So that's the end of today, then?" He cocked his head to the side, hair cascading over his shoulder with the movement. "You never fail to ask for so little, Chikusa."

It was meant as a friendly jab, but all Chikusa did was look at him and softly say, "I only need you, Mukuro-sama. In any way."

Such a smooth talker, that Chikusa. Then again, perhaps it was less smooth talking and more that Mukuro knew that the words were absolutely true when they left the mouths of his two most loyal minions. Both had their fondnesses, whether for things like gum or hats, but both ultimately wanted him above all else. It was one of the few things in the world was guaranteed, besides death and the cruelty of humans, and Mukuro let it be one of his few comforts. So he relaxed, laughing while he changed back into his regular clothes free of cum, and thought no more of it. 

* * *

Going back to the sessions took a while, after that. For starters, they had things they still had to do and which couldn't be ignored. Mukuro liked to indulge his followers, from time to time, but he would never forget his true goal. Even as Tsunayoshi Sawada was the official head of the Vongola now, and leading the Family in quite a different road, the mafia was still a blight upon the world. It still needed to be cleansed, bloodletted until things were pure again. That this meant, in Mukuro's eyes, that most people would be dead was of no consequence.

If he held back somewhat because of his dear Chrome and the ways Tsuna affected him, he staunchly refused to think about it.

Ken also needed more attention as well in his off-time. Caring for Chikusa and Ken was a balancing act, he'd learned over the years ever since they first agreed to follow him. You couldn't show too much favor to one without upsetting the other. Both of them would murder (and had) for the other, but that didn't mean things couldn't be strained if he was reckless. So he made sure to pay particular attention to Ken, taking him and being taken, along with a variety of other little things. Out of the pair, at least Ken was the most easy to satisfy. All it took was a bit of candy, meat, and the sensation of Mukuro's nails along his scalp. In the meanwhile, Chikusa didn't complain, and instead shuffled off on his own occasionally to buy things that were no doubt to be used for the next session. By the time he was ready, murmuring as much to Mukuro when Ken was sprawled asleep on his lap, quite enough time had passed for Mukuro to indulge another round.

"So what have you for me this time?" he asked lazily, smirking with the same amount of energy as he stepped into the latest little room that they'd taken. It was a little different from the sort of rooms Chikusa usually leaned towards, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. All of these sort of establishments varied in their own ways. It was just as likely that they didn't have the kind that Chikusa preferred. Still, it was near enough. There was a bed instead of a couch and coffee table, the restraints on it much more noticeable than the subtlety that he'd seen in them before. On the opposite wall from it was a single comfortable armchair, plush enough that it would no doubt make Chikusa's lanky frame diminutive in comparison. A few containers were stored under the bed itself, Mukuro noted, and was pleased to see that Chikusa looked through them in case of any nasty surprises. Every session of theirs had been in an empty room save for furniture, and anything else was brought by Chikusa. Maybe it was paranoia... Except in their situation, "paranoia" was "common sense".

Paranoia was when everyone _wasn't_ really out to get you.

Two other notable things besides the furniture was a door to the side and a large ornate mirror that dominated the wall opposite of the door. It didn't escape Mukuro's notice that it spanned the length of the bed, but he ignored it for the time being. Instead, as Chikusa meticulously checked the boxes beneath the bed, Mukuro did his own due diligence in checking out the door. All it lead to was a tiny little bathroom, nowhere near as luxurious as the rest of the room but suitable for its job. There was a sink, a shower, and a toilet- all anyone could need. There weren't any towels, which he supposed was a bit much to ask for. Even this amount was quite a nice surprise. It made him wonder what sort of things went on in this room and this particular club, although he didn't really have to wonder at all. The world was large, people were varied, and all sorts of nasty things could happen in a bedroom.

By the time he stepped out, Chikusa had apparently finished inspecting everything to his satisfaction as well. Instead, he'd moved onto slowly stripping, and Mukuro leaned against the door frame of the bathroom. Now this was a treat. In the past, whenever he'd changed, Chikusa had done it behind a screen or other such thing. Mukuro had teased him, outside of the bedroom, about being shy but who knew with Chikusa. Perhaps he thought it had a nice effect, to step behind a screen and then out of it completely different. Mukuro wouldn't say he was wrong in that case.

Still, there was an appeal in watching someone strip and change, which was part of why he liked uniform play so much. Both of his favored subordinates did so in completely opposite ways. Ken, fittingly, was wild and energetic. Tugged off shirts being torn off in a flash and which left behind wilder hair, kicked off shoes that smacked into the wall, and all finished off as the blond fumbled to put the requested clothes on to Mukuro's specifications.

Chikusa was so much more languid. There was no rush to his movements as he straightened up to his full height, allowing his shirt to be slid off smoothly, and Mukuro's lips quirked as the action left Chikusa's beanie dislodged slightly. Gently, he toed out of his sneakers, and didn't bother to remove his socks. Instead, as he slowly slide his pants down bony hips, he let them get caught up in the pant legs. Despite what people would have thought with someone who preferred cleanliness and who had such a quiet disposition, Chikusa wasn't truly neat. Neatness required energy, and he only saved that for his poisons. So the clothing wasn't folded and put to the side. Instead, Chikusa let them crumple to the floor whereupon they were nudged under the bed with his foot.

From where he was watching, Mukuro chuckled. "It'd be unfortunate if those were to disappear," he teased. Chikusa looked up, full lips stuck out in something that could nearly be called a pout. He was so cute, when he cared to be.

"Don't disappear them, Mukuro-sama... Please..." They both knew it was something that he could do easily, after all. All it would take was a minor illusion, and Chikusa would be stuck with leaving the building either naked or in the get up he wore for these little sessions. It was tempting to do so, honestly. Who wouldn't want to see Chikusa stuck in whatever fine outfit he'd picked out, lovely and distant and imperious in public streets? The alternative, of course, was that this would push Chikusa further, and perhaps keep them here longer as he suitably "punished" him...

Another time, maybe. Mukurou would be generous today. Instead, leaving the doorway, he strode over to Chikusa until he was only an arms length away from him. "You mentioned a change for me," he hummed, reaching out so that his fingers could trace lightly down the side of Chikusa's arm. No one else would think him beautiful beneath his clothes, bone thin and covered in scars. Ken was typically reckless, his personality showing nothing less, but Chikusa was just as much so. When he had to participate in an all-out fight, he cared nothing for his body. The effect was various scars, scattered all across his body, and Mukuro valued each one. "I don't suppose you might have something new to wear yourself?"

"No..." Sure enough, as he began to pull things out from the bag he'd placed on the bed, Mukuro recognized the shirt in his hand. "That sort of thing would be bothersome..." Glancing at him from the corner of his eye, Chikusa raised an eyebrow. "...What sort of thing would you like to see...?"

Mukuro laughed. "Latex maybe?" he suggested, hand swinging back down to his side. He could imagine it perfectly in his mind's eye, a sight amusing as much as it was attractive. "Or perhaps more leather. You go for such minimal affects."

"Mm." Sliding on a new pair of socks best suited for his boots, Chikusa continued, "It's troublesome. But..." He straightened up, tilting his head to the side consideringly. "...Maybe later."

'Later' could mean anything with Chikusa, depending on future energy levels. That was fine, they were in no rush. Mukuro certainly wasn't as he watched Chikusa dress, appreciating the way his shirt clung to his body and how the corset squeezed in around his already thin waist. It was only then that he finally exchanged his beanie for the other one, another little detail that had Mukuro smirking. When it came to the boots, long in both length and heel, he finally acted. Right as Chikusa reached out to pull the pair out from the bag, he reached forward to curl his fingers around his wrist. "Allow me," Mukuro purred, their eyes meeting. He'd never gotten to see Chikusa dress in all the times prior. Now that he had this opportunity he preferred being an active participant instead of a passive audience.

Chikusa stared at him right back, those lovely smooth eyes of his hiding all sorts of thoughts, before he let out that slow exhale which had Mukuro smirk. "Fine," he agreed, laconic as usual. That was fine. The agreement was the important part, no matter the form that it came in. Victorious, Mukuro pulled the boots from Chikusa's grip and slid down to the floor. Some would find it demeaning to get on their knees, doing such an act. Mukuro found it short sighted of them. There was a power in this position as much as in any other. Mukuro knew how to use it to his advantage, looking up purposefully at Chikusa from beneath his lashes. He barely needed to look at his own hands, undoing the boots from the memory of having undone dozens of others before so that he could slide Chikusa's own foot inside with minimal issue. They really did fit him wonderfully; Mukuro had to admire it. It only took some adjustment before the foot slid in snugly, and Mukuro made sure to tug so that it wouldn't become loose or uncomfortable. With that, it only took a little bit of buttoning up before it was snugly wrapped around Chikusa's calf. To finish things off, Mukuro leaned in to press his lips against Chikusa's knee, looking at him directly the whole time. For his efforts, he was rewarded yet another slow and quiet breath.

The other boot was finished up in much the same manner as the first, and Mukuro rose up to his feet even as he lingered his kiss against Chikusa's leg. He knew _exactly_ what sort of sight he made as he smiled slyly up at Chikusa from beneath his hair. "So I take it my clothing is in the bag as well?" he asked, taking a step back.

Chikusa stood up as well, clicking his heels back against the floor a few times to check that everything was as it should be. "Right..." He nodded his head to the mirror. "Stand over there."

Chuckling some more, Mukuro obeyed even as he said, "Do you want me to admire myself? Now I'm wondering if you've chosen something special." There was no answer. All Chikusa did was take the bag by its handles and lightly chuck it further up along the bed so that it was closer to where Mukuro stood. Ah, laziness prevailed once more. He was fine with that. It meant that, when Chikusa strode over to stand behind him, he wouldn't need to venture away again. Instead, he stayed right in place with his hands slinking around Mukuro's waist. His fingers curled underneath the hem of Mukuro's shirt, peeling it off in the same smooth way he'd done for himself. Sometimes, Mukuro wondered if this was Chikusa's favorite part of the whole thing: undressing him bit by bit, revealing smooth skin where those busy fingers admired him at Chikusa's leisure. Perhaps it was simply because this had all become habit, but even Mukuro had become fond of the lingering way Chikusa undressed him. The mirror added something new entirely. Now, he had a completely new view with which to watch the proceedings. He didn't even have to bother to look down. He could let his head loll back, eyes half lidded, and watch Chikusa's attention stay entirely on him. Unlike him, Chikusa didn't yet use the mirror to assist himself in undressing Mukuro. He preferred the real thing, transfixed with skin that he'd seen hundreds of times before like this was new to him. Truly, there was nothing better to stroke Mukuro's ego than watching those dull eyes sharpened so intensely trace over his shoulders and the curve of his spine.

By the time his upper body was completely bare, even his hair having been loosened to fall gracefully around his shoulders, Chikusa's fingers were already smoothing down towards his hips. Mukuro watched through the mirror as he slid down to his knees, disappearing past where Mukuro could see him over his shoulder. There were only his shoulders peering around his legs, and his fingers as he blindly undid Mukuro's pants. "So skillful," Mukuro breathed, hoping for a reaction but not surprised when he didn't get one. All Chikusa did was pull his pants down, and Mukuro shivered when he felt his hot breath against skin. Yes, he think he liked this a great deal compared to their prior sessions.

He kicked his pants away from where they had pooled at his feet, along with his underwear. They were in the way of him savoring Chikusa's ghost-like touch, feather-light where fingers met leg or hip. "You can dress yourself, can't you?" Chikusa murmured, breath curling around the side of his head and into his ear. Mukuro raised an eyebrow at him, knowing that he could see with the mirror right where it was.

"Now that's a change."

From the mirror, Chikusa blinked dully at him. "Did you become spoiled?" he asked quietly, despite being the one who was still loosely holding onto Mukuro, fingers at his hips.

Mukuro laughed at him. "And if I had?" he asked right back, not mentioning that Chikusa and Ken spoiled him regularly so long as he was in reach of their desperately grasping hands.

A low hum answered him. "Then... That would be a bad thing, I would say. And you would have to learn better." A beat. "Probably." Somehow, that pause made him laugh even more, and Chikusa took that small amount of time to turn away from him. No longer were his hands lazing about on his hips. Instead, they delved into the bag once more. It was a little difficult, at first, to see exactly what it was he was pulling out. Part of the bag was behind Mukuro's back, and his own body was an obstruction in the mirror's reflection. Fortunately, it didn't take long before the first article of clothing was slipped into Mukuro's hand. Looking down, he chuckled again. "Does it count as a change of pace when it's only a palette change?" he asked, marveling regardless at the black lace stockings. The intricate floral pattern carried on through it from top to the toes.

"It's fine," Chikusa murmured, still preoccupied with the bag. If nothing else, bending down to slide the lace over his feet allowed Mukuro to watch Chikusa more efficiently through the mirror. Each bit of clothing that was removed was as dark as the first thing he'd been given, and no less fine for it. If anything, the underwear almost seemed to be even more sheer than the white set had been, and Mukuro admired his image as he adjusted it around his hips. The gloves were completely fingerless, although nothing like bridal gauntlets, and were fine to put on. Trouble came with the cincher. Sure, it wrapped around his waist fine enough, but tying it...

No matter how careful he was, it threatened to slip off of him at worst, and the slide as it refused to stay in place was hardly any better. Mukuro still tried multiple times, of course. His pride wouldn't allow for anything else. It was only after the fifth time or so that he began to get truly impatient, scowling at the mirror image which showed the cincher hanging loosely from his body. Perhaps a little bit of cheating with real illusions would do... After a moment, he realized his weren't the only eyes focused on his reflection. With the mirror was a middle, he made eye contact with Chikusa. "You could help out," he said, sardonic instead of sulking.

Chikusa hummed, a soft low sound barely audible from deep within his throat. "I could," he said lightly, and didn't offer any.

With his appearance in the mirror, and Chikusa's long hard heels visible right behind his dark lace stockings, it didn't take long for Mukuro to understand the silent rule Chikusa was playing at. With an amused huff, he lolled his head back so that he could smirk, eyes half-lidded, over at Chikusa's apathetic expression. "Would _you_ please help?" he asked, all cloying honey. A split second later, for his own amusement, he added, "Chikusa- _sama_?" Such a small platitude was nothing to his pride, considering he'd said similar things in other languages to other people and meant nothing by it. It was only a means to an end. With the way Chikusa breathed, eyelids dipping down, Mukuo considered the end reached. Chikusa's fingers accurately and quickly putting the cincher in place only confirmed it. "Did you like it that much?" he purred, leaning back quite comfortably against his subordinate's lanky frame. Despite his skin and bone frame, Chikusa still held him up, dependable as usual.

"I wasn't expecting it." His fingers came to a stop, still resting against the curve of Mukuro's spine. It was up to Mukuro himself to put the last piece into place, which was the black lace choker. There was a small teardrop of a jewel on this one, too. Quite classy. "I didn't tell you to do it, either."

"Well," Mukuro said idly, carefully lining up the choker from behind his neck, "that is the sort of thing expected in scenarios like this, isn't it?"

"You've never asked it of Ken or me."

Pausing, Mukuro considered Chikuksa's reflection. "I suppose I haven't," he said, amused. Then again, there was never any reason to make the request of either of his most loyal subordinates. For years, now, Chikusa and Ken had taken to giving him such high titles all on their own. Mukuro had never had to ask them. In Italian, it was _Maestro_. In English, they went with a simple 'Master'. Japanese, with its many different honorifics, had proven to be a bit of a challenge at first, and he'd noted how Ken had graduated from "-san" to "-sama" once he properly paid attention to which Chikusa (always the quicker study) was using. There was no novelty in using such words in the bedroom, no matter what position Mukuro took with them.

Perhaps Chikusa understood that, because he pursued the line of conversation no further. Instead, he rested his chest against Mukuro's back with his hands sliding into place around Mukuro's hips. Coyly, Mukuro crossed his arms so that he could reach around to rest his fingertips upon those same hands. He looked stunning, of course. From a young age, he had always know that he had a fine face, and, paired with such well made lace such as what he had on, he looked all the finer. Chikusa had also always looked attractive in the clothing that he chose for these sessions. This, too, was nothing new. What was new was being able to see how Chikusa looked in relation to him, with his territorial grip and the subtle way his head was bowed so that his nose and lips could press into Mukuro's hair. It was the sort of possession that often laid buried beneath so much of Chikusa's seemingly placid and apathetic nature, hidden in the depths of his still waters. Truly, it had been a good idea to go along with his subordinate's interest in such scenes.

"There's one more thing," Chikusa said quietly, breaking the simmering silence which had laid between them. "You forgot."

Mukuro chuckled. "I would say we both did," he teased, letting his hands slide downwards as Chikusa's pulled away. He knew what the other meant. There _was_ one last aspect of this whole scene which Chikusa had such interest in, and it was the blindfold. No matter when, he was always so certain that the paltry strip of lace was never forgotten. Well, Mukuro had gotten used to it, and it was a small price to pay in order to see Chikusa roused into taking charge as he had been these last months. He waited patiently until the feel of lace was in his fingertips again, and Mukuro idly brought his hand up to inspect it.

Immediately, he paused. "Something seems different about this one," he pointed out.

In the mirror, Chikusa slowly blinked at him. "It's black," he deadpanned.

How sassy his subordinate could become. Mukuro snorted a little bit, amused despite himself, and took both ends of the blindfold so that he could hold it out before himself properly. Yes, fair enough, it was black to match with everything else much like the white blindfold had done with its outfit. Deep within its darkness, light slipping in through the gaps, he could make out twisting floral designs much like with everything else he was currently wearing. Yet that was the problem: there wasn't much light making it through to _start_ with. As he stared at it, Mukuro tried to figure out what was the difference. Was it only because the material was darker that it seemed to eat up vision so much more? Or was it truly thicker, meant to block out more?

Around his waist, Chikusa's arms twined around him quite comfortably, and he could feel the soft pressure of his lips in his hair. Normally, Mukuro was leery of such displays of affection, but he allowed it when it came to his subordinates and with such possessive edges. At least, he'd put up with it for the moment. "Is something wrong...?" The words were simple and innocuous. There was nothing inherently offensive about them. At the same time, addressing them honestly felt like a blow to his pride, and Mukuro smothered up his own thoughts away from Chikusa's too sharp eyes. When it came to him, after all, his quiet subordinate strove so hard to miss little.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively, rolling his shoulders back against Chikusa's chest. "I was simply marveling at the choice you made." Masking any misgivings with a smirk, he tilted his head back to nudge Chikusa's head out of the way and so that he could look back at him. "I'm quite impressed that you apparently have had such taste hidden deep within you."

Chikusa blinked, slow and languid with his eyelashes lingering against his cheeks. "Only for you," he said softly, and some of Mukuro's wariness at the change in blindfold eased away. Only some, but that was enough for him to look back towards the mirror.

"I feel so spoiled," he hummed, drawing the blindfold up around his eyes. Immediately, the world was darker, more obscured. With the white lace blindfold, it hadn't been anywhere near this bad. So pale, it had more than welcome light and images through it. Now, there was only the vaguest outline of shapes available to him. While the mirror had been charming and tantalizing before, now it meant nothing. If anything, it actually made him feel a little more tense as every movement and object reflected in it was disorienting. For someone who so often made quotes about what was actually reality and what was illusion, there was probably some irony in how he felt uneasy and aggravated with it turned on him. Mukuro couldn't be bothered to find it funny.

At least Chikusa was still right where he left him, his presence directly against Mukuro's back a reassurance. The slow calm rhythm of his breath tickled the back of his neck, rustling his loosened hair, and it followed the rise and fall of his chest at his back. Similar to the way rain's melody lulled people into a feeling of sleepiness and serenity, so too did Chikusa's breath. It muffled the feeling of Mukuro's own heart, and drew it to match the heartbeat he could feel behind him. Even the smooth slide of his shirt against Mukuro's skin felt calming somehow. It rustled slightly against him, sliding slowly as Chikusa adjusted his grip until he could turn Mukuro around with the most minimal of movement. With the two of them pressed up so closely, newly dressed, it was even easier to breathe in Chikusa's scent. In days past, Ken had brought up occasionally the different smells that he associated with everyone. Some of his observations had seemed rather incredulous while others were common sense. With Chikusa in particular, he had mentioned the annoyance of how he always smelled of soap and rain together. To Mukuro, that had always seemed contradictory. Right now, with his eyesight muffled and more of his focus forced to be diverted to other places, he had to admit that perhaps his ever-loyal blond had a point. Perhaps not rain, exactly, although it seemed as though it would be easy to imagine it, but certainly the soft reassuring scent of steam and soap. Through the lace, he could faintly make out movement- Chikusa had just tilted his head to the side as he looked down to him. "Not too tight?" he asked quietly, so close that his soft words tickled at Mukuro's skin.

What a solid reminder of why they were here, in the position that they were in. Mukuro smirked, the expression slinking onto his lips, and crept his fingers up along Chikusa's back. The leather was smooth, unmarred, and gave no objection to his wandering hands. Truly Chikusa had taken fine care of it over the many months that he'd put it to good use. "Isn't that the point sometimes?" he asked teasingly. Against his lips, Chikusa huffed softly in a way that was very nearly a laugh.

"Only sometimes." One arm stayed wrapped around Mukuro's waist, perfectly comfortable right where it was. In front of him, however, there was more movement, and he could feel the way Chikusa's lanky frame twisted against his with one side of his hip bumping into him. There was a soft scraping sound, and, by the time Mukuro recognized it as Chikua's nails brushing against the bag, there was a sturdy _thmp_ crumpling far to the left of him, at the end of the bed. Ah, right. The bag. Well, it _had_ been in the way of the bed's primary purpose. Judging by the way it had hit the ground, enough so that he could feel a faint vibration in his feet... Just what else was Chikusa keeping in there besides the clothing he always made sure to pack?

He missed his opportunity to ask before Chikusa's body was turning back to him again, and his fingers slipped underneath the lace of his underwear. Just the fingertips, enough to pinch them together and draw lace away from his ass, but more than enough for Mukuro's attention to be snagged. "Are you going to undress me already after all the fuss about getting me into it?" he asked smoothly, leaning closer against Chikusa's chest. He was close enough for the pearl drop on his choker to bump into Chikusa, close enough for the buckles on his suspenders to coolly sting at Mukuro's own flesh... and certainly close enough so that his own blossoming arousal could be felt against the inside of Chikusa's thigh.

For his efforts, Chikusa released the bit of lace he'd gotten a hold of and had it snap against Mukuro's rear hard enough to make him jolt a little against his subordinate. "Not yet," he said idly, knowing perfectly well what he was doing to get Mukuro's cock rubbing up against him even if it meant doing so by surprise attacks. Then again, coming from Chikusa of all people, that wasn't surprising. "Can you find the bed?"

The question felt like a challenge and dig at him simultaneously. With this blindfold so much more of a nuisance than the one before it had been, Mukuro couldn't help rankling at even the slightest bit of helplessness he had to experience... enough that he wanted to prove it wrong, as much as that made sense. "It's right behind you," he said dryly, shrugging out of Chikusa's loose embrace. For as confident as he tried to come off as, he still knew better than to just step right ahead. He might know, objectively, that the bed was a step to the side and then right before him, but it was something else entirely to actually find it... at least while not making a fool out of himself. There was a reason why people groped around when in the dark, or blindfolded, even if they had seen everything perfectly a moment before. Sight was more valuable than people thought, and they thought an awful lot of the sense.

Still, he could manage fine, and, if he couldn't, well, he wouldn't tell Chikusa that. At least he had some idea of what to do. All it meant was letting his hand fall from Chikusa's back, hiding his uncertainty as he felt behind the taller man for the bed he knew wasn't that far off. All it took was a few seconds before his fingertips found soft blankets. With that done, he slid out from Chikusa's grasp, stepping around him to the bed. At least he could see the bed enough to put his knee up onto it with more certainty. If he was truly blinded... then his entire world would be what he could feel through his feet and an idea of where he was through his hand on the bed.

Crawling onto it properly, he twisted his legs beneath him and sprawled back. Even if he couldn't be confident in his surroundings (a feeling that never failed to rankle), he could certainly be confident on how he looked. "How's this?" he asked playfully, stretching languidly with his arms raised over his head. This cincher was flexible enough to allow him to arch his spine; he wondered if Chikusa was thinking how similar it was to more explicit moments. It'd be perfect, if he was.

While his body relaxed back down against the bed, he felt the mattress compress to the side of him, surrendering to another body putting its weight down. Despite how he knew that, and how he could see the faintest bit of movement through his blindfold, it still sent a shock through his body when Chikusa's fingers skimmed along the small portion of skin between cincher and underwear. "You're beautiful," Chikusa murmured, the same as he'd said in their first little session that started this whole thing off.

Mukuro laughed at the same time he shivered from Chikusa's hair brushing against his legs; he had to be bending over. No doubt that was why the bed had creaked slightly a second before. "Only beautiful?" he asked, stilling at the touch of soft lips to his knee. Chikusa could touch him in any way like this, and he would only realize the true extent and intent of it when it happened, not a second before. The knowledge had something in the pit of his stomach clench.

A hum was the answer he received in answer to his question. So Chikusa was withholding any other thoughts he had about Mukuro's appearance, waiting idly for the right moment or words to speak them. In the meantime, Mukuro could hear the sound of another knee digging into the blankets, and the fabric shifted with a quiet noise as Chikusa repositioned himself. When he next spoke, it seemed to be right at the foot of the bed, and right at Mukuro's own feet as well. "Other things as well," Chikusa confirmed, his fingertips ghosting up from his ankle along his calf.

"Like what?" Mukuro asked. Those two words alone had Chikusa's fingers stop, perfect still against his legs, and Mukuro squirmed impatiently until he realized exactly what his subordinate was silently requesting of him. "Tell me, please?" he tried again, doing his best to keep the impatience and demands out of his voice. Frankly, he doubted he did particularly well there. Even he could tell that much.

Regardless, Chikusa indulged him, and his fingers skirted up to rest against his knee. "Lovely," he added, thumb stroking against Mukuro idly. "Enticing." With that word said, he took a firmer grip against his knee and moved his leg until it was spread, and the other shortly followed it. With his eyes blinded, there wasn't any point in trying to 'look' down at Chikusa. Reveling in compliments and the way his body was being manipulated alike, Mukuro rolled his head back with a pleased smirk. "Exquisite."

"Do you have a thesaurus nearby?" he asked, quiet laughter lacing his voice, but no. He knew Chikusa was simply that clever. Out of any of his minions, and anyone he had possessed, he knew Chikusa to have the best memory out of them. Before him, the bed shifted again, right between his legs, and he could feel his rear dip with the pressure. Yet right as his body had adjusted to the shift, Chikusa's firm hands slid right beneath him and lifted him up. Another jolt shot up Mukuro's spine, and it took work to keep that reaction from showing. By the time he had managed to get his body to truly relax, a feat which took perhaps a second or two at most, Chikusa had positioned his ass right on the edge of his lap "Now what's this about?" he laughed, genuinely curious.

Chikusa's fingers answered for him. All Mukuro could see past the blindfold, when he attempted to try, was Chikusa's long frame leaning over him. He was forced to wait patiently as his hands roamed his body, sleeves brushing against the inside of his thighs. Perhaps it was the material which felt so fine against bare skin, but Mukuro's muscles twiched at the sensation. Or maybe it was Chikusa's fingers themselves, lazily stroking against and kneading into his hips. It was a strange sensation, one that made Mukuro want to squirm all the more. He'd been grabbed by the hips before, of course, in desperation or to stabilize one another in a bit of particularly rough sex. That much, he was used to. Chikusa's touch was nothing like those sort of moments. It didn't dig deep into his flesh, or mostly stay in place. No, every movement kept going, and at the kind of pressure that was just enough to tease his own feelings of arousal. Perhaps with the constant never-enough kneading, it was actually worse. Impatiently, he arched his back, trying to make those fingers dip down properly inbetween his legs. Typically, this didn't work. Chikusa's hands instead went upwards, grazing lightly over the cincher with a pressure that Mukuro could hardly feel at all. Honestly, it was probably more the way his touch disturbed the lace, no matter how lightly, that really got his body's attention.

One hand stopped at the top of the lacy expanse, his thumb sweeping over the edge to tease along the thin skin along his ribs. The other hand, thankfully, was much more bold. It slid up right in the center of Mukuro's chest, fingers spreading out directly over the beat of his heart. There was no touch of his nipples, not yet, not directly, but Mukuro could feel them graze just close enough to excite. Well, no one could say he wasn't proactive. With the faint pressure of Chikusa's hand against his chest as a guide, his shadow over Mukuro telling nothing, he reached up to curl his fingers carefully around Chikusa's wrist. All these years, and they were still so thin. He could encircle one with his grasp easily. "Over here," he murmured, guiding it a little closer to the left.

"You're very demanding," Chikusa observed plainly, although he didn't fight against Mukuro's guidance. Instead, his hand went where he wanted it to, brushing up against one pert nipple. Mukuro laughed at him again.

"You've never had a problem with it before," he said, just as bluntly, grinning. Chikusa's honesty never failed to be refreshing, even in moments like this. Perhaps the best part of it was that Chikusa never went too far. Instead, he fell quiet and, in moments like this one was, put his attention to more interesting matters. The shadowy figure above Mukuro shifted, and this time he expected the soft gust of air which flowed over his skin and the hair which delicately followed it by brushing against him. It was their very first session all over again, only now in an entirely different place. Chikusa's lips mapped out his skin in silent worship, kisses as good as prayer or sacrifice wherever they touched. Mukuro half expected him to erupt into something rougher, as he had the time before, and the thought left him tense, aching, in anticipation. If the thought of doing so was in Chikusa's mind, he kept it well hidden. Even at Mukuro's nipples, the most that he did was avoid touching them directly, instead teasing them with the heat of his breath until Mukuro's heels were scraping against the blankets with his squirming. Eventually, the kisses trailed up to Mukuro's throat, and Chikusa didn't have to particularly force him to move his head. Instead, he nudged it with his own, the quiet promises of his mouth on Mukuro's skin a good enough temptation and bribe. Then and only then did Chikusa's mouth press down harder, lips parting to make way for his teeth so that they could scrape and dig in next to his choker. A groan rolled out of his mouth, following the curve of his body as he arched up further into his subordinate's body no matter how much that hand pressed down on him. Even if he couldn't stop Mukuro's body, Chikusa was more than a master of his own. He didn't give into the roll pressing up against him, the temptation of his moans. He was almost lazy in the way he mouthed a mark into the side of Mukuro's throat, taking so much care that there wasn't any doubt in his mind that it was going to stand out sharply against his skin. And when those lips were finally done imprinting that mark there for all to see? Chikusa's lips shifted only an inch or two until he was on a fresh patch of skin that accepted his teeth as gladly as the first part had. He continued on and on, kissing every fresh mark as if to savor the taste of Mukuro's skin, until it felt as though a collar of bite marks was around Mukuro's throat over lovely delicate lace.

The entire time, Chikusa didn't touch the rest of Mukuro's chest save for those simple lingering fingertips.

As Chikusa pulled his mouth away, Mukuro huffed at him and lifted his knees to pinch his subordinate inbetween them. "Touch me, _please_ ," he said, more demanding than begging. The shadowy blob of a figure that his blindfold showed Chikusa as only shifted up to his knees, the mattress shifting a little bit beneath the two of them. What he couldn't make out past the blindfold was the approach of Chikusa's hands settling along his knees, fingers brushing against the underside of his calves.

Like everything else he'd done up until now, the touches were teasing, and so were Chikusa's words, in their own way. "No," he said simply, and Mukuro had to fight back the urge to childishly kick his feet. In the time it took for him to bite down on the fleeting desire, Chikusa took a firmer grip on his legs and shoved them forwards up against Mukuro's body. He barely had time to register what was happening before Chikusa adjusted his touch, grabbing him by the hips and flipping him onto his stomach.

Well. If he hadn't been hard before, he certainly was _now_.

Chikusa's hands had started to pull on his hips, but honestly he didn't even need to bother doing that. Mukuro was already raising them up, elbows digging into the blankets in his attempt to grind back against Chikusa's hips. For a brief moment, perhaps a second, he could feel the hard bulge of Chikusa's cock in his pants, right against his ass, and then Chikusa was pulling away. That was fine. Mukuro laughed, a little breathless. This was more than fine, honestly, and a much better position to be in. "Tease," he breathed, stretching his arms up ahead of him until the curve of his spine was almost painful. True to the title Mukuro had just bestowed upon him, Chikusa kept tauntingly out of reach, and he had even less of an idea of where his subordinate was now than he had before. The blindfold made things _difficult_ to see, but not impossible. Like this, forced onto his stomach, Mukuro couldn't see even the faintest bit of movement beyond that of his own arms. The only way he was able to keep track of Chikusa was the way the mattress dipped towards his weight, and his fingertips as they skirted along lace and flesh. Soon, even that latter part disappeared, and the mattress shifted with every scrape of Chikusa's knees as he moved along it. "What are you getting now?" Mukuro asked, tempted by the urge to get up. His curiosity was a powerful thing, and, anyway, perhaps it would get Chikusa to be even rougher with him still. From such a restrained subordinate, there was nothing more interesting.

A zipper clinked lightly against itself, the smallness of the sound made up for by its sharpness. With the familiar sound of fingers against sturdier cloth, Mukuro had no doubt that Chikusa was going through the bag again. Soon enough, the sound of movement came closer to him, as did Chikusa's weight on the mattress. "Something to make this easier," he murmured, curving his hand along Mukuro's ass once again. One finger dipped underneath lace, squeezing it tighter around the rest of Mukuro's pelvis, and soon it was joined by another. This set of underwear was much shorter than the other pair had been; Chikusa didn't have to move his fingers much before the lace was peeling over his twitching asshole. "Cleaned up?"

Mukuro snorted lightly into the blankets. "Of course." He wasn't Ken, who had to be either threatened or cajoled into bathing more often than not. He especially wasn't Ken because he knew exactly what Chikusa's hang ups were, and could, more importantly, manipulate them deftly instead of adjusting to them subconsciously as Ken had long ago. A clean body was one that more smoothly held Chikusa's interest. On a practical level, a clean body was also one that was guaranteed not to leave too much of a mess on these expensive club sheets. It wasn't that Mukuro didn't _have_ the money to pay off any damages or filth, but why go to the trouble if he didn't have to?

Chikusa's satisfaction was Mukuro's satisfaction. It didn't seem like an easily proven fact when Chikusa's hands pulled away, but Mukuro was listening intently. In the quiet of the room, with his ears straining, he could easily hear the clicking pop of some sort of cap. Chikusa's hands returned again, tugging at his underwear, pulling it to the side to expose him further and-

 _Oh_. Mukuro jolted abruptly as a slickness glided against his sensitive hole and skin. The lube wasn't cold, but it was just cool enough to be startling... and the feel of liquid on his skin only invited more of that moderate chill to his body. His surprise didn't give Chikusa any pause. All he did was continue to toy with Mukuro, grazing his fingertips along the most sensitive and often untouched part of his body. Unlike the time before, he didn't bother diving straight in. Instead, he did as he'd done all the times before: teased him, tempted him, and tugged at the very faintest frayed ends of Mukuro's pleasure. It curled in his stomach bit by bit, impatient, and he had to bite down on his lower lip. Really, Chikusa could be quite the sadist when he cared to expend energy for such a (in his eyes) trivial thing. At this point, Mukuro knew that if he demanded anymore from his subordinate, he'd only be teased even worse, and for far longer than Chikusa might have initially planned for.

So all he could do was knead his fingers into the blankets, hips squirming to squeeze more out of every fleeting touch. The seconds stretched out into minutes into what seemed like _hours_ ; time meant so little with his eyes blinded and Chikusa's touches so slow. Yet right when his patient felt as though it would snap in two, a breath gusted over his ass in warning, and there was a faint nip right there at the curve.

Mukuro would later deny that he made any sort of noise in response to that, let alone one that was garbed and high in the back of his throat. What he couldn't deny, whether in that moment or later on, was the electric shock that rattled through his body. As he gained control over himself, Mukuro laughed, breathless and a little shaky. "I thought Ken was the biter," he murmured into the sheets, trying to spread his legs wider in response to the flick of a tongue that went over the bitten area. He wasn't expecting an answer, and he didn't get one, either. All Chikusa did was kiss and lick his way to where the underwear was pulled to the side, skirting around the twitching hole that was so eager to receive attention. In fact, his mouth seemed to go everywhere _but_ where Mukuro wanted him the most. His lips kissed a trail up to his tailbone, nose nudging lace out of the way. Down inbetween ass and cock, his tongue coyly tugged at the strings of Mukuro's arousal. Yet his hole was firmly left out of all the fun, which only made Mukuro ache harder for what his subordinate wasn't giving him.

"Chikusa," he gasped, wanting to rock his hips and _not_ wanting to dislodge Chikusa's mouth from his body. After only a second, he decided there was no point in playing fair, and added, moaning, "Chikusa- _sama_." So close against him, and skin unbearably sensitive under the constant touches, it was laughably easy to feel how Chikusa's breath stuttered sharply. Yes- that did it, surely. It had to. A beat went between them, long enough to almost have his confidence waver, but then Chikusa's mouth returned to him. His fingers dug firmly into Mukuro's ass, gripping and stretching him until ever bit of him had to be on display. The most important thing, however, was what he waited the longest for: Chikusa's tongue flicking against his puckered ass. The muscles in his thighs twitched and leapt sharply, the pleasure electric. As Chikusa's tongue continued to lap against him, spreading the lube with every flick, Mukuro's cock strained against the confines of lace. With how his ass was kept upwards, it only seemed to make his underwear even more unbearable as gravity tugged on him. He wanted more, wanted it harder, and Chikusa's lazy ministrations against his ass continued to skirt the line of being enough. If it wasn't for his skilled fingers, kneading and digging into the soft flesh of his ass, Mukuro was certain that he'd be tighter than leather, tighter than a bow string. Yet despite the constant jerks of his lower half and the swell of arousal burning in the pit of his stomach, Chikusa expertly kept him relaxed and wanting.

Distantly, Mukuro wondered if Chikusa had practiced all of this on Ken, first. A tease against the exact rim of his hole, and Mukuro forgot about the thought immediately.

When Chikusa inevitably pulled back, Mukuro twisted uncomfortably in place, trying to reach for- anything. A hand, a bit of clothing, anything at all to keep his subordinate there. Predictably, he couldn't grab him in this position, and a low huff rushed out of him. Certainly, he wanted more, but he didn't bother to sit upright. Every time Chikusa had pulled away in the past, it had only been to prepare for the next step. That didn't abate his impatience, however. As the foot of the bed dipped down a little further and the bag rustled, Mukuro slid one arm that had been stretched up in front of him down and away. He couldn't be too obvious, too overt, so guiding himself via his own lace covered body or the blankets of the bed were out of the question. Instead, he reached blindly inbetween his legs, fingers fluttering against lace until he felt his own pelvis. From there, around to beneath his stomach, and... Mukuro bit back a hiss of relief as he tugged at the lace, cock popping free. The sensation of freedom rushed through him, easing some of the tightness that had been tormenting him for so long now. It never failed to feel good. He only had a brief moment to enjoy it. At the end of the bed, the mattress shifted again, and fingers dug into his hip.

Once again, he was flipped over, this time back to sheets, and he moaned even as his head bounced against the mattress. Distantly, something landed onto the bed, heavy enough to make impact but not heavy enough to sink deep into it as his body had. Mukuro couldn't pay it much mind. Chikusa's body was suddenly pressing inbetween his legs once more, and his fingers grabbed his wrist to jerk his hand away from where it had been lingering. "You're too impatient," Chikusa said quietly, stretching Mukuro's hand up over his head himself. "I didn't say you could touch yourself."

Something rustled up against the headboard, soft and swift. Chikusa's other hand had to be at work, and Mukuro thought he could nearly see its distinction past the black lace. "I need permission now?" he asked, smirking as something different from those thin fingers began to wrap around his wrist. It was soft, the kind of material that wouldn't leave any scratches, but a firmness was hidden past it. If it was metal or leather or anything else, it was impossible for him to tell so easily. All he could tell was that it was secured firmly in place. When he gave an experimental tug, there was the sound of chains clinking thickly together. Ah, so they'd finally moved to restraints, had they...?

For a second, he was perfectly fine with it, smirking through Chikusa's silence. It was when the second restraint was around his other wrist that something twisted strangely in his stomach. He knew that, if he could see even a little more clearly, this sort of thing wouldn't bother him at all. If anything, it would be a minor convenience. Right now, it was probably still that with his level of skill. Yet no matter how much he repeated that little bit of objective logic to himself, the uncomfortable fist-sized sensation right beneath his ribs didn't leave him.

He didn't show such a thing on his face. At least, he didn't want to, even to a treasured underling such as Chikusa who would chew off and swallow his own tongue before he betrayed his secrets to anyone. Yet perhaps the other man saw something regardless. Instead of returning right back to what he had been doing, Mukuro could feel him still right where he was inbetween his legs. A light touch suddenly lit upon his cheek, causing his heart to smack painfully inside his own chest. There was a chance, although Mukuro didn't want to admit it, that his jaw was a bit tight. Surely Chikusa could feel that much. He said nothing of it, however. His fingers merely stroked upwards, curling into Mukuro's loosened hair. "I want to be the only one giving you any pleasure," he said softly, bed rolling underneath their bodies as Chikusa leaned in closer until his breath was one with his. "I don't want even you to pleasure yourself... Here, at least."

Somehow, such possessive words soothed the tension in Mukuro's body, and he smirked against Chikusa's lips. "Do you only want me for yourself?" he murmured, mouth pliable as a kiss was pressed down against him at long last. As with everything else he'd done to him, Chikusa's kisses were soft and slow, the moment dragged out for ages as he re-explored every bit of Mukuro's mouth. He only stopped until he was left panting in place, lips slick.

 _Then_ he answered, one which surprised no one and certainly not Mukuro. "Yes." There was a pause, heavy with thought. "...And Ken too."

That had Mukuro laughing again, although he could hardly spare the breath for it inbetween Chikusa's kiss and the way his fingers began venturing down his body again. "Do you do the same for him?" he asked, tossing his head to the side and shuddering as Chikusa circled one finger around his nipple. "I'm jealous that you haven't shared such a sight with me already." A shock jolted through him as the same nipple was suddenly flicked, the pain sinking into pleasure.

"Ken wouldn't have the patience for it." Pausing, his stare a weight even if Mukuro couldn't see it, Chikusa soon pinched the hardened skin inbetween two fingers. "I'd have to tie him up a lot... And he'd need a good collar."

Now didn't that make for a delightful image. Mukuro savored it in his mind's eye. It was an experience made all the better for the way Chikusa toyed with his chest the entire time, massaging and pinching and kissing in equal measure. Ken would look so good tied up, and leather truly would shine on him in contrast to his wild appearance. A nice thick collar around his neck with a shiny ring, straps crisscrossing against his well toned chest-

"He'd need a dog's muzzle, too," Chikusa said, as if reading Mukuro's mind, before sharply twisting one of his nipples. When he groaned and jerked sharply in his restraints, Mukuro couldn't be sure if it had been the words or the action which made him gasp so. As he sunk back into the bed, Chikusa pulled away from him, and his hand curved to a rest against one of Mukuro's thighs. "How do you feel...?"

From his chest, every inch of flesh tingled from leftover pain that blended far too seamlessly into pleasure, especially where Chikusa's skilled and plush lips had grazed against him. Further down, his stomach was clenching impatiently in time with the throbbing of his cock where the lace was squeezing down on it again into his pelvis. It was delicious, and still not nearly enough. "I could feel even better," he breathed, stretching his legs out pointedly, hopefully. Chikusa's thumb swiped against the inside of his thigh, so close to where he wanted it, and the heat pooling in the pit of him boiled hotter.

Chikusa leaned against one knee, arm sliding over it, and Mukuro realized that he'd forgotten that he had gotten something out earlier. It was only as there was the faint gasp of a bottle squirting something out did he recall the matter again. It didn't take much to have an idea of what it was, with Chikusa so quiet and the light _thmp_ of the lube bottle landing onto the bed again... and it was a theory confirmed as something hard and distinctly plastic pressed up against his ass. "No preparation?" he asked, acting off the way his stomach tightened strongly in anticipation.

"I did," was the only answer given, and then the toy pressed in. It didn't go in _smoothly_ ; of course it wouldn't. That illusion only held for perhaps a centimeter, or two, before bumps began to grind into the entrance of his ass. Mukuro squirmed at the sensation, of being stretched out and then his flesh trying to enclose over the space again only to be stretched once more. Every bump teased at him, drove his nerves wild until he was aching- and Chikusa took so _long_. He took so long, sliding the dildo into him maybe centimeters at a time and not nearly fast enough, that it felt too long, too thick. Mukuro tried, desperately, to rock his hips, and was shut down as Chikusa's free hand pressed down onto them. So skinny, no one would have ever guessed that he could have such strength in him, and Mukuro's ass squeezed down all the harder onto the toy.

By the time Chikusa finally finished pressing it inside of him, his fingertips following along the curve of his ass before leaving entirely, Mukuro was twitching against the bed. All he could focus on was the feel of it inside of him, thick, textured, so close to his prostate as if to mock him. Chikusa's own cock was perfectly fine, had fucked him well, but it had never been this thick, and never this still. "Chikusa," tumbled out from his lips, a gasp of a sound, and he squirmed in his attempt to draw his hips up closer to the other man.

Chikusa continued to not touch him. Instead, there was only the faint sound of him adjusting himself on the mattress- making himself comfortable for the sight that was on display for him and him alone. Or perhaps that was Mukuro's thinking alone. "Does it feel good?" he asked, his soft voice a contrast to how hard he was teasing him this way. "Do you want more?"

It was an obvious lead in that Mukuro was more than fine with following. Straining his body, he arched his back upwards and spread his legs as wide as he could make them while still staying curved upwards as he was. " _Yes_ ," he groaned, nose burying into the side of his arm. Somehow, even the touch of his own skin was electric in this moment. "Do it- touch me more. _Fuck me_." He licked his lips, swallowing thickly. " _Please_ , Chikusa-sama."

For a brief second, there was no reaction, and Mukuro would perhaps almost have wondered if the title was losing its effect- but no. Chikua's knuckles brushed against his ass cheeks, fingers gripping firmly onto what was left sticking out from Mukuro's ass. The one way he could tell was because the toy shifted a little at the touch, once again only so much to send jolts of arousal through his nerves. The bed dipped down by his hips again, the effect of Chikusa leaning over him once more. "You'll have to be good," he said softly, the sound so insidious and gentle as it slid into Mukuro's ears. "And you'll have to stay still."

How intensely was Chikusa looking at him, past Mukuro's hair and the blindfold tied tightly over his eyes? Mukuro shuddered to imagine it. "Anything," he rasped. "Anything you want." Anything for this pleasure to intensify instead of this distant teasing.

Chikusa hummed in response, which made it not much of a response at all. Before Mukuro could be bothered to complain about it, however, the toy was suddenly jerked out from him. Every single bump on its surface rattled through his nerves, a direct contrast to the agonizing slowness that Chikusa had used only seconds before. It was rapid fire, no room to adjust, and a cry leapt from his lips. Maybe _this_ was why Chikusa had taken such care to be so slow with him before. Now, in the face of such fast pleasure, it shook him to his core. He didn't stop there, either. The toy hadn't been pulled completely out, the tip still buried inside of him, and Chikusa used that to make the plunge back in all the quicker. He'd always been fast with his hands; Mukuro had known that for years. It was one thing to know, and another thing to _experience_ , helpless as he was for the way Chikusa mercilessly pumped the toy in and out of him with no break. It scraped along the insides of him, drawing pleasure out in its most raw form, and he always seemed to know exactly how deep to thrust it in to make stars burst behind Mukuro's eyelids.

Yet there was one place Chikusa didn't torment, a place that he paid no attention to at all... and that was what was so torturous itself. Trapped against his hips, lace digging down into the soft flesh and the sensitive tip brushing against his stomach with every jerk and squirm, his cock _ached_. Speaking was truly a trial; every breath that left him came out a groan or gasp. Yet eventually his own will won out in the battle against his body. "Chikusa-" Another gasp as his subordinate twisted the toy, and the chains rattled where Mukuro's hands jerked. "Chikusa _touch me_."

The toy paused deceptively, only partially out of Mukuro's body, before thrusting right back into him again. "Touch you where?" Chikusa asked, laconic voice floating through the air. So unhurried, so quiet, Mukuro wanted to dig his fingers into his scalp and ride him until his face was tear-stained. The pressure around his tugging wrists reminded him of why that wasn't possible, at least not without some cheating.

Forcing him to give an answer they both already knew did nothing for Mukuro's patience. His voice twisted out of him, part snarl, part moan, all desire. "My cock, touch me _there_ -!"

Chikusa didn't touch him there. In fact, he did something worse. Even as Mukuro was rocking his hips into the sensation of the toy, it suddenly came to a complete stop, all the way inside of his body. "No," came the simple blunt reply.

Mukuro couldn't _see_ red, exactly and technically, but that didn't stop him from feeling it rushing through his body. It wasn't anger, either, but merely annoyance and impatience and far too much arousal than he wanted to deal with. He tugged at the restraints harder, arching his spine- only for Chikusa's leg to brush against thigh and stomach. That brought him to an abrupt pause, intrigued, and that was all Chikusa needed to settle on top of him. His legs were the ones that were spread out now, straddling Mukuro's torso, and he had positioned himself just enough for his rear to brush against the tip of Mukuro's cock. Electricity went through him, from the tip to his brain, and he moaned into Chikusa's mouth when it pressed against him. "You look amazing this way," he murmured inbetween kisses. Softly, he sucked on Mukuro's lower lip, drawing out a sigh. "Your arousal straining out from you, leaking all over your hips..." A hand pressed against his chest, flicking a finger against one pert nipple. "Flushed all over your body past the black.. I never get to see you like this." Softly, his hand skirted up his chest before sliding against his face, into his hair. "I want to enjoy it."

It wasn't often that Chikusa talked a lot. He was quiet, introverted even taking away all their circumstances. When he was with the rest of them, he contentedly sat back while Mukuro did all the talking. Other times, so many times in the past and even still now, he was left with only Ken, and Mukuro knew for a fact that Chikusa only intervened when it was truly important or something in particular had to be made clear. If Chikusa could get away with saying nothing at all, then he would. That was simply how he was.

So to hear the rare effort of Chikusa bothering to use his words, and all to praise his appearance, his value... Mukuro would accept his ego being stroked over his cock just fine. If anything, perhaps he appreciated the ego stroking even more. There was a chance Chikusa's clever fingers were also helping. Even as he began to settled back into the mattress instead of straining to rise against it, Mukuro sank into the feeling of nails scraping lightly against his scalp. It felt so good, hair parting easily against the flow of movement, the pressure enough to draw out only pleasure and not a trace of pain (although he wouldn't have complained to that, either). From behind the blindfold, his eyes fluttered shut. It was almost, almost, enough to make him relax. Truly, Chikusa had been with him the longest alongside Ken, and paid attention to him the sharpest. It was intimacy Mukuro rarely allowed, even with them.

"Almost" still wasn't enough, of course, but he could appreciate skirting along the distant sensation.

Quietly, patiently, Chikusa continued to pamper him that way, with his fingers stroking through his hair and calming Mukuro down. It did nothing to quell his arousal, unfortunately. If anything, the faint tugs of his fingers occasionally getting caught in messy strands of hair or a scrape of fingers that was just a little too had only served to flick at his feelings of lust. Chikusa surely had to sense that, or perhaps he merely picked up on the way his hips squirmed, because he leaned down even closer until his lanky body surely had to be in an uncomfortable curve. "I'm going to start again," he breathed into Mukuro's ear, the whisper squirming inside and leaving a trail of shuddering pleasure. "Be patient for a while longer."

"Hurry up," was all he moaned as he felt Chikusa's presence pull away, and one leg lifted away from his side. On his opposite side, the mattress ducked down even further with further weight, only to bounce back upwards again. Fortunately, the floors were hardwood, and Chikusa's heels were still impressively pointed. They clicked with every step, starting from right to Mukuro's side and drifting in no particular hurry back towards the foot of the bed. Even while wearing heels and taking the lead, Chikusa still seemed to walk as he always did: so slowly and pointedly. Did he know the effect it had on him to listen to each sharp click, the way it drew out the anticipation in his chest? It could be so hard to tell with him. When the steps finally came to a stop, Mukuro was straining against the restraints so that he could keep his hips raised up and the toy clenched firmly in place so that it wouldn't slip out. So long as he didn't move, it wasn't as hard as one would think. Holding his breath, he waited, and was reward for the show of patience by the bed dipping at the end. Chikusa's weight settled inbetween his legs again, right where he belonged, and Mukuro's thighs shuddered at the feeling of his knuckles brushing against his displayed ass.

"Enjoy it," were the only words he was given before Chikusa slide the toy out once again. It was as if they were back at the beginning again, the bumps dragged out of him agonizingly slowly to extend that wondrously tortuous feeling of pleasure. He had to be doing it on purpose, perhaps as a delayed punishment. That's what _Mukurous_ would do, after all: delay what his precious and begging followers wanted when they got in the way of his fun even if they only did so because of how intensely they desired him. Still, as much as he panted and groaned, Mukuro didn't fight against it this time. It was a good reminder to have, that this was Chikusa's reward for being so loyal and obedient after all these years. If he wanted to savor the experience, then Mukuro supposed he could draw up a little bit of patience.

Besides... Even as it was tortuous to endure, the slow and deliberate way Chikusa pumped the toy in and out of him truly was delicious.

There was an advantage to such a slow tortuous pace, too- it allowed him a little bit of breathing space to think, and realize what his precious subordinate was up to. Touching his cock, jerking him off, would be too easy. He wanted him to come on only the pleasure stroking through his ass, drive him up the wall in ecstasy to that point and none other. At least, that was what he first thought as he rocked his hips into Chikusa's teasing, sighing and moaning with every perfect grind. Orgasm was a familiar thing to him, an idle pleasure that he enjoyed but never particularly pursued on his own. He knew well when it was coming, how heat churned in the pit of his stomach and the pressure in his cock began to be far too much for him to stand. Every thrust and twist into his body only nudged the feeling further along.

Chikusa, apparently, could also tell when Mukuro's own body was on the verge of release... because right as he was _so damn close_ , the movement ceased, right then and there. No thrusting, no teasing, not even a brush of skin against skin. Mukuro groaned, baring his teeth, and rocked his hips desperately. The toy was still buried in him, thick and textured. He could push it out if he tried, no doubt, but how could he get it back in again without Chikusa's help? " _Chikusa_ ," he hissed, squirming uncomfortably. Besides him, the mattress began to dip. "Chikusa-sama, you stopped, I was so close, _come on_ -"

Indulgently, Chikusa's hand stroked along his head and smoothed out his hair. It was hard to tell, unable to see as he was, but he had no doubt that it was wild around his head. Even with his sight restricted, he could feel it sticking to the sweat that had gathered along his shoulders and what neck showed past the choker. "I told you I wanted to enjoy this," Chikusa murmured, still petting him. "You'll have to keep waiting."

So _that_ was what he meant. It wasn't only the act of making Mukuro come with his ass alone that Chikusa was after. Rather, it was the act of edging that was his real goal: teasing him again and again towards orgasm, only to never let him fall over that blissful edge of sensation. Well, maybe "never" was a slight exaggeration, even if it didn't feel that way in the moment. "Where do you learn such fascinating things?" he asked, his voice wound tight within his throat. It was all he could do to control himself.

There was no answer from Chikusa. All he did was to continue stroking his hair, wandering hands occasionally drifting downwards towards sensitive skin. Ever idle brush of flesh-on-flesh made his cock twitch longingly against his stomach, precum leaking all over his hips. Mukuro had no doubt that this was the image Chikusa had been dreaming of perhaps ever since he had first made his request of him all those months ago: him restrained, body slick with sweat underneath delicate lace, his hair spread out wildly against a mattress. When Mukuro himself imagined similar, only their positions reversed, he could see the appeal.

As the minutes passed, the pressure in his lower half began to ebb away. While still present, it wasn't nearly so needy or demanding, and his panting began to ease up again. The sweat on his body cooled. Mukuro had no idea what it was that Chikusa saw which had him finally deign to touch him again. All he knew was that the pressure on the bed shifted all the way along the side of his body, the other man leaning further down as far as he could tell, and his fingers slid from the outside of his thigh to the inside. No warning was spoken before his fingers found the end of the toy once more. All he did was immediately tug it out, and begin the demanding, mocking, teasing pace once again.

And again.

And _again_.

Every time it felt as though Mukuro would finally tumble over into release, Chikusa stopped right on cue, and it didn't matter how much Mukuro tried to hide his need. With his body bare, clad only in that scant amount of lace, it would be impossible without illusions anyway. Most of the only reason for trying was as part of the game they were playing, reacting to Chikusa's movements, giving him something to strive for. He had no idea how long he was strung along in this manner, Chikusa tangling his pleasure in his hands like a cat with string. When he finally moved, Mukuro thought nothing of it, only that his subordinate would find yet way to torment him so wonderfully. From besides him to between him once again, and his breath still caught when he saw the shadow of Chikusa's outline for only a moment past the blindfold. All too soon, it was gone. Mukuro had no idea what for... until a breath gusted across sticky hips. "No point in dirtying this set," he breathed before, with no other preamble, he slid fat lips right over the tip of Mukuro's cock.

After so long, all the teasing and waiting and adamant refusal- it was embarrassing to admit that he came so immediately but he did. Orgasm flushed through him, sending his mind into whiteness. When he finally came to, his lungs ached from the sound he must have made, and his legs were clumsily squeezing down over Chikusa's shoulders. Those wonderful lips were still wrapped around his dick, tongue arching up into the sensitive glans to coax out every trace of cum that it possibly could. Mukuro couldn't speak, could barely breathe. All he could do was moan, the sounds tumbling from his lips jerkily in time with his hips as his arousal was firmly and determinedly clean. When he was finally spent, every bit of him emptied into Chikusa's mouth, he thumped back into the mattress. Without even realizing it, he'd been arching his back into that blissful sensation.

At the same time, Chikusa finally slid his mouth away. It was barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things, and very much the same could be said about how the pressure at the foot of the bed eased away. Mukuro only really recalled him when the click of heels came to a stop from his left, and a cool hand slid up against his cheeks. Light filtered in past the black lace, and then came through entirely unobstructed as that hand moved it up past his eyes to a stop against his forehead. Blearily, Mukuro blinked. His vision cleared right in time for him to watch Chikusa's throat bob, swallowing the 'treat' he'd taken for himself, and his tongue poked out enough to clean the last traces that had lingered on his mouth. With the blindfold moved, Chikusa shifted his hand down again to cup Mukuro's face. "Was it good?" he asked simply, eyes half lidded as he slowly took in the entirety of Mukuro's state.

Ha. As if he needed to ask. "Better," Mukuro rasped, surprised at the sound of his own voice. As he puzzled over the hoarseness of it, Chikusa leaned in closer, and Mukuro was given a reminder of how he was restrained in place. Somehow it had completely slipped his mind up until the moment Chikusa's fingers brushed against his wrists right underneath where he was chained in place. He offered no complaint. All he did was lay there, enjoying the post-orgasmic moment that had his head filled with fuzz, until Chikusa lowered one arm back down to his side with the utmost care, and then repeated the action for his right hand. Normally, Mukuro was loathe to be in a state of weakness. That Chikusa was one of his most trusted followers meant nothing; it was simply how he was. To be an illusionist meant to keep up the greatest illusion of all: that he couldn't be beat, that he didn't know weakness, that he didn't know fear. In that moment, however, well, perhaps it was laziness talking that kept him contentedly down against the blankets watching as Chikusa attentively went over what felt like every inch of his body. His wrists were given particularly special attention, and Mukuro could almost smirk when Chikusa raised one of his hands to reverently press his lips to bruised skin from where Mukuro had tugged so viciously.

Only when his inspection was satisfied did Chikusa look up at him with a slow blink, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. "Do you want to take a shower, Mukuro-sama?"

Feeling a little more solidly inside his own head, Mukuro chuckled quietly. Any louder or faster, and he was sure he'd just end up in a coughing fit. "Are you looking for an excuse to strip me again?" he asked playfully, pushing himself up so that he was sitting. His hair hung loosely past his shoulders, but didn't flow as much as he thought it would. Then again, he supposed he _was_ quite sweaty. No wonder it stuck. That alone decided things for him. "Go start it up then."

Only a few moments before had Chikusa kept him trapped in place, dictating his pleasure at his whim and teasing him so mercilessly. Now, he was so quietly obedient. There was no objection as he slid off the edge of the bed, only a simple nod before he turned around and, with lethargic steps that clicked dully against the floor, headed towards the small door at the opposite end of the room. As he did so, he patiently began to undo the various buckles of his corset, bottom to top, until he could slide his arms out from the straps and let it fall behind him. There was no attempt to be clean, no neatness. Chikusa simply let it go with a thump, and kept walking. Somehow, all Mukuro could do was chuckle again, endeared by the action, before he glanced down at himself to take stock of his condition. It was due time that he did, after all.

Chikusa had done a good job in keeping the dark lace from being ruined. Not a single trace of cum could be found as far as Mukuro could tell. In some ways, it was almost a pity. There was a certain beauty that Mukuro preferred in lovely things being utterly wrecked, marred and imperfect. It was why he preferred buildings that were in ruin, and, while it was far from the only reason, there was probably some effect in the followers he kept closest to his chest being so scarred. Still, even if Chikusa had sucked up the very last drop from his cock, the sweat's effect on the lace couldn't be ignored. Not only did his hair cling to his skin, but so did what he wore. A certain dampness was across the inside of his choker when he removed it from his throat, and the gloves had to almost literally be peeled off of his skin.

The garment which had suffered by far the most, however, was definitely his underwear. It was still stretched out a little to the side, digging into the toy which had still been so carelessly left in him. Mukuro took a breath as he pressed his fingers around it, and still twitched and jerked a little as he pulled the dildo out. Everything had left him so sensitive, with the bumps still as effective as when Chikusa has first slid it into his body. No, perhaps now, in the aftermath of his orgasm, he was even _more_ sensitive. When the toy was finally out of him, Mukuro tossed it to the side with a low exhale. Perhaps this level of sensitivity was something he would have to keep in mind for another time, whether for himself or for one of his precious followers...

Looking up, his eyes immediately sought out Chikusa's own. At some point in his undressing, his subordinate had positioned himself at the doorway to the bathroom and leaned against its frame. No words, no movement, only those eyes watching Mukuro carefully. As their gazes met, a slow smirk crawled across Mukuro's face. "Such a voyeur you've turned out to be when I wasn't looking," he purred, not bothering to adjust his underwear so that it clung to him properly instead of off-kilter in its recovery from the toy. Not only did it have to deal with his sweat sinking through it, but the lube that was still faintly wet against his ass was also a trial. Well, it would be coming off soon enough. There wasn't any reason to be concerned about it. "Is the water ready?" He'd heard it turn on a few moments ago, the shower pounding against tile, but he had no idea how quickly or how slowly this particular club heated its water. Even if it took forever, that a shower was offered at all was valuable in its own right.

"Ah..." Chikusa's eyes drifted slightly to the side in thought. "It should take a little longer... I think." So he'd already felt it, then, to gauge its progress. As expected of his hygiene oriented subordinate.

That was more than fine with Mukuro. With disguised carefulness, he slid his legs over the edge of the mattress until he could press his feet against the floor. With how much Chikusa had teased him and kept his legs spread, he couldn't exactly be surprised when he found they were a little unsteady. Mukuro waited for the moment to pass, steadying them with invisible Mist flames before he rose fluidly up to stand. "Then that means I get to have fun of my own," he said, voice silky as he walked over to Chikusa, his hips swaying. Obediently, Chikusa stayed right where he was, and leaned into Mukuro's touch when his leader pressed a hand against his chest.

This time, he was the one to undress Chikusa, savoring the experience. Even now, in a setting like this, Chikusa didn't bother for anything too complex. This was Mukuro's kink, not his. That didn't mean Mukurou couldn't enjoy peeling away the layers of his clothing anyway, and he had to admit it was satisfying to having his hands meet bare skin immediately as he popped open the buttons of his shirt. Leaving the buttons only mostly finished, with a few still done up at the bottom, Mukuro hummed, pleased. Chikusa's skin was so cool in contrast to his own still burning flesh, and he enjoyed the contrast where their bodies met. His fingers pressed in against every rising bump that was a rib, far too many of them able to be felt on Chikusa's drawn frame. It was a journey to traverse them until his fingers found more solid ground against his chest, where Chikusa's breath came and went slowly. Somehow, by feeling the slow steady beat of his heart, Mukuro's own seemed to relax as well. If one were to judge Chikusa's involvement by the pace of his heartbeat alone, then they would have come to the conclusion that he had been in an entirely different room while Mukuro had been in the throes of pleasure.

The state of his pants told a different story. Once his shirt had been pushed back over and past his shoulders, dangling from his elbows and waist, Mukuro ventured down to lower territory. Even before Mukuro had touched him at all, a telltale bulge was barely visible beneath his belt. The latter was child's play to get rid of, undone and unwrapped to be discarded along with the corset that had practically been forgotten at this point. The former Mukuro didn't bother with at all... Not directly anyway. Instead, he took a moment to pause and admire his work. Chikusa was so lovely this way, half undone, his need a barely kept secret, but there was something still missing. Taking in the whole picture helped Mukuro figure out what it was. Slowly, much as had been done for him, Mukuro slid his fingers through his follower's hair, and felt no small satisfaction in the way Chikusa immediately melted into his touch with a sigh. His eyes had fluttered shut from that small motion alone, lips parted. So easily, so gladly did he melt into a state of vulnerability from Mukuro and Mukuro alone. It was almost tempting for a Round 2... Just not yet.

Instead, his fingers traveled further, ducking underneath the tight grip of Chikusa's hat, until his knuckles could bump up higher into it to slide it back. Once pushed far enough, it crumpled easily, both from his head and down to the floor where it hardly made a sound upon landing. Certainly its owner paid it no mind. He was enraptured by Mukuro's touch, body shivering as rarely bared fingers skirted along the scarring which lay in his scalp. Sometimes, it was amazing how simple it was to please his followers. It would be easy to undo him right there, in clothing and body alike, and Mukuro had to pull up some of his self restraint to keep it from happening. "The water should be ready now, I imagine," he said, and watched how reluctance weighed down Chikusa's eyelids, making it a struggle for him to open them. He had no doubt that he could be quite content standing there forever with Mukuro's fingers in his hair.

"...It'll be good to get out of these heels..."

Well. Maybe not _standing_ , exactly. Mukuro laughed, hand falling to his side, and passed by him breezily. Together in the simple little bathroom, the two of them finished their undressing. Between them, Chikusa seemed to have the most bothersome way of it. The boots he wore for these sessions were lovely things, sleek and bringing out the best in those long legs of his, but they were quite a nuisance to remove. Mukuro knew the way of boots from his own experience. He wasn't surprised in the least as Chikusa sat on the toilet, mouth screwed up as he tugged with his hands and wiggled his feet. In comparison, all Mukuro had to do was slide his stockings down, the underwear following quickly after it. The corset was a little troublesome, true, and yet, by the time he was tossing it out from the bathroom, Chikusa had only just take off one boot. Mukuro didn't bother to help him. It was a lot more amusing to watch him struggle. Not hiding his laughter, Mukuro passed by him and stepped into the steaming little stall that could surely fit two. "Do let me know when you finish, won't you?" he asked breezily, enjoying the subtle sulk which overtook Chikusa's lips.

In all his time on earth, Mukuro had experienced finer washing facilities, but he'd experienced worse ones, too. The shower stall did its job well enough, hot water destroying all tension as it hit his body and slowly burning the sweat that stuck to his body away. Really, it was hot enough to burn, more than hot enough to hurt a little, and all Mukuro did was tilt his head back to enjoy it. Even in these little things, he was slightly a masochist... but only slightly, really. He didn't make any move to actively wash himself, however. He waited patiently, taking in the pleasurable heat, before a shadow slipped in first besides him and then behind. "Finally done?" he asked, lips quirking up a little at the first touch of Chikusa's fingers smoothing up his back.

"The boots were annoying.." Even while he was saying that, Chikusa's body pressed all the closer to his, utterly bare.

Mukuro laughed at him again. "And yet you look so attractive in them," he said teasingly, reaching back to rest his hands on Chikusa's. Despite the frustration and annoyance that the boots had caused him, it appeared that neither of those emotions had diminished what was _really_ important and grinding back up against Mukuro's ass. It was tempting to bend over, presenting the tantalizing sight which he knew would tug at Chikusa's arousal... And yet judging by the way that Chikusa sunk so neatly against his back, allowing his hands to be guided to wherever Mukuro pleased, perhaps he had tired his subordinate out even though he had done nothing at all. (Which was the reason why, he knew.) So he decided to do him a favor.

Pulling Chikusa's hands away enough for some movement, Mukukro turned around until they where chest to chest. He had to tip his face up to look him in the eye, smirking upwards. He was by no means a short man, unlike certain other people he could name easily, but Chikusa was tall and only seemed all the taller when he bothered to stop his slouching. When they were face to face like this, knees brushing, he was forced to. Faint bemusement passed through the glassy surface of his eyes at the change in position. While it would have been fun to leave him wondering, they'd already been at all of this for long enough. Not wasting much time, Mukuro abandoned Chikusa's hands to stay where they were on his hips, and instead spread his fingers up against Chikusa's narrow chest. "Let me clean you," he murmured softly against Chikusa's chin. From underneath his palms, he could have swore that he felt his heart thump upwards and out. It was much easier to tell how Chikusa shuddered for him. That was as good as consent for him.

Really, the club they were using for today's session truly was worth all the money that went into it. A complimentary washcloth waited for them to the side, hanging from a small rail which was in its own little cranny in the shower wall. Mukuro was fairly certain that they weren't allowed to take it with them, meant to be cleaned and then reused, and that was fine. He wasn't interested in petty theft. All of his attention was arrested by the canvas of scarred skin that lay before him. Unlike himself, Chikusa hadn't been particularly sweaty to his touch when he'd partially undressed him before. That meant nothing. Mukuro still passed the washcloth over his body: teasing one nipple, digging it into his hips, caressing the side of his neck. It was all simple foreplay, in the end. The real goal was past Chikusa's hips, where Mukuro scraped the rough texture of the washcloth, and standing so eagerly at attention for him. In much the same way as he himself had been teased, he tempted him right back by never touching that erection directly. His touches skirted carefully around it, gliding over the pelvis and dipping down to brush over sensitive thighs.

To his credit, Chikusa stayed perfectly still, even when no such order had been given. Mukuro smiled slyly to himself from the feel of his fingers alone, digging into his hips for a brief fluttering moment with every twinge of arousal. "Do you want something, Chikusa?" he asked, brushing their legs together purposefully. "If you don't tell me, I can't possibly know."

Chikusa's breath shuddered throughout the whole of him, practically rattling down each of his ribs. He didn't spare anytime with games. "I want to come, Mukuro-sama."

So honest. It was one of his best qualities, second only to his loyalty. From his hand, the washcloth slipped, and fell into itself on the floor inbetween them. For being so honest he supposed he could reward him simply and cleanly. With thanks to the water cascading over their bodies, Chikusa's cock was already lovely and slick by the time his fingers wrapped around it. If the heat was from his arousal or the steam that was pressing insistently against their bodies from the shower, well, who could say, really? It didn't particularly matter. The point of it all was that there was no resistance when his hand began to move, pumping fluidly from the base to the head. Mukuro kept his eyes trained on Chikusa, taking in every little minuscule reaction- the only way to see what he was really feeling. Even now, in the sauna that the shower stall was becoming, his cock being stroked with no respite, Chikusa tried so hard to keep his face blank. From beneath the curtain of his lashes, his eyes had gone hazy over slightly parted lips from which soft panting emerged. Try as Mukuro might, all the little tricks and twists he employed in his technique, the most he got from Chikusa's stoic composure were the nails that dug into his hips with every full body shudder.

One day, when he had the time, he'd make sure to completely and utterly break his loyal follower, until he was shattered at Mukuro's fingertips and his bones were laid bare and white beneath him. One day, just not now.

Now was for Chikusa finally coming with a messy splatter all over his hand, gasping into Mukuro's hair before it was swallowed up by a greedy pair of lips. Now for was him sinking against Mukuro, sedate and content, his hands still roaming over him in a bleary effort to help clean him as well. And later? Later was for them to return back to where the others were waiting for them, Ken particularly impatient and anxious. As far as Mukuro was concerned, they had all the time in the world. 

* * *

Black lace and edging seemed to become Chikusa's new favorite after that, or perhaps he simply couldn't be bothered for a change of pace. While the changes of white to black seemed minuscule, Mukuro still took a little bit of time getting used to them. The edging was one thing, for starters, although Chikua never changed things up besides the pattern of how he would get Mukuro to the point of almost-orgasm. He always allowed Mukuro free use of his hands, up until he made the 'mistake' of trying to touch himself in any manner. Then, he was restrained without any hesitation whatsoever, with whatever amount of roughness Chikusa felt he needed. Depending on where their sessions took place, sometimes it was with the same kind of headboard cuffs as their first time. When they lacked that at their disposal for whatever reasons, Chikusa was perfectly willing to improvise whether with sheets, shoe laces, or whatever else he could get his hands on.

In time, Mukuro learned to keep his hands anywhere but his body. It didn't seem to matter very much _where_ they were so much as where they weren't. That was enough. So he would tear his fingers into the pillows over his head when Chikusa stirred up his insides so roughly. He dug his nails so deeply into the sheets enough that he was mildly surprised that he never tore straight through. On occasion, he even left marks in Chikusa, clinging to him and moaning directly into his ear. On those nights, he'd marvel at what he was allowed in the form of little red crescents that decorated the other man's skin.

Still, that wasn't what he struggled with the most. No, what he still had to resist fighting against was the blindfold. The material was the same as its white predecessor but it was still so different and blinding enough to raise his hackles up. What was it that had him react so adversely? Mukuro knew what it was, of course, and he was loathe to admit any of it. So he did the only thing he could do in that case: he adapted.

It took some time to do so well, of course. Well, perhaps it took a lot of time, especially when Chikusa was so determined to drive his mind utterly and completely blank in pleasure. In due time, he managed. Mostly it had to do with his sense of hearing. All the energy and attention that would normally go to his eyes didn't have to be used when there was nothing for him to actually see, not really. It was easier to simply close them at the end of the day, especially when he was overwhelmed at a stroke to his cock or a thrust into his ass. What was harder was channeling all that energy and attention to his other senses instead. Eventually, _eventually_ , he became quite adept at it. Sounds such as the click of Chikusa's heels had always been noticeable. Now, Mukuro could hear even more from him: the rustle of his hair sliding against his shoulder when he leaned over something, the near inaudible inhales that gave away his every position, his fingertips rubbing together before he prepared to grip a toy.

It came to be that he actually developed the skill _outside_ their little sessions, after long enough. There was never any reason or possibility that he was blindfolded outside of them, obviously. However, sometimes when a building was too dark as he hunted waiting mafia through it, he learned to catch a quiet breath or a soft shift of a shoe against carpet. Other times, he closed his eyes of his own will, listening for a hint or to filter out the various sounds that cluttered together.

"I wasn't expecting it to be so useful," Mukuro mentioned one day, idly obscuring some parts of his thoughts such as his dislike of being blinded at all. Over to the side, Chikusa was patiently loading up a syringe with something that seemed uncomfortably transparent. The mafioso they had tied tight to a chair could only watch with wide horrified eyes, his mouth gagged. "How like you, Chikusa, giving me something so useful without even trying."

From the corner of his eye, he watched his subordinate duck his chin into his chest where he could hide his pleasure at the compliment. He did so treasure every little bit of praise that fell from Mukuro's lips. It was a heady feeling. Intoxicating. If control was what made Chikusa feel so breathless and content more than any orgasm could bring to him, as Mukuro suspected was the case, then perhaps the same could be said of him when it concerned such worship. "I'm glad you like it then, Mukuro-sama," he said quietly, approaching the last surviving member of a Family that had never deserved to live in the first place. "So you're used to that kind of play now?"

Mukuro lapsed into thoughtful silence at that, although the same could not be said for their captive. "I suppose it's normal enough for us," he settled on, glancing at Chikusa. For once, the other man wasn't watching him. His eyes were instead focused on the convulsing figure he was before, taking in every reaction. Chikusa's sense of worth was all on what he could offer his leader; Mukuro had known that for a very long time. That meant he strove for such perfection when it came to honing and creating his poisons. In a way, although it didn't look it, that was also a form of worship. "Certainly you've indulged in that sort of thing often enough, Chikusa," he added slyly, smirking to match his tone. "I think anyone would adjust after that much play."

Chikusa didn't smile, or laugh. The only times Mukuro had ever seen him do as much were the times where he was confronted with particularly absurd hats that got even to his cold and barely beating heart, which he then had always immediately bought. No, for Chikusa, the corner of his mouth merely twitched a little, and his lashes dipped down for a fleeting moment. "It's because it's you, Mukuro-sama," he murmured, still watching as the mafioso began to go limp. That seemed like it would be enough of that topic for the day, honestly. Yet as he checked the mafioso's vitals, Chikusa continued to speak. "But... if that's the case... then maybe... a new costume...?"

Unabashedly, Mukuro perked up with clear interest. "Shall I leave it to you to surprise me with your choice yet again?" he asked, keeping his desire hidden underneath a thin layer of coolness.

"If you like," Chikusa agreed, and said no more on the subject. 

* * *

Despite the fact that he had been the one to bring it up, and in the face of Mukuro's own eagerness that showed even with his efforts to downplay it, the subject of their sessions didn't come up again for a couple of months. Chikusa showed the signs of going to get things, much like with the two outfits of lace, so Mukuro forced himself to be patient. Whether it was poison or pleasure, Chikusa always did his best to make sure that he was pleased with the end result. All he had to do was wait, and he would be rewarded quite nicely. Mukuro had no doubt. Yet it couldn't be denied that it was an immense relief to such a burden when Chikusa _finally_ made his desire for another session known. The anticipation had gone long enough.

When Chikusa held open the door to the particular clubroom that he'd chosen for this round, Mukuro stepped in and had to wonder if half the reason he had been taking so long was because he'd been waiting for the right city for them to stop in. He'd recognized the building the moment they'd entered the front doors: a rather classy establishment that kept things extremely lowkey and only seeming like any other hotel on the street. There was a certain brazenness to its very existence as it masqueraded itself to polite company, and that was no doubt why it could continue on like it did. It was the same reason why in most places, save for special locations such as Las Vegas, certain adult stores could carry out their business so long as there was not a single sign of what filthy little things lay behind their doors. With this particular club, dolled up like a regular hotel and perhaps even serving perfectly normal travelers, the only difference to it was the level of pretending it indulged in.

Even with that knowledge, he was surprised at the amount of indulgence Chikusa had unveiled for him. A certain amount of class was expected with a place like this, after all... but one glance at the room showed that it was the best of the best. When he'd permitted access to his card to schedule sessions like these, he'd never imagined that it would have been put to such a pricey bill. It was an enormous room, although not larger than some dungeons Mukuro had ever seen, and fit more than enough little toys within itself that all fit within Chikusa's subtle tastes. There were the restraints tucked tastefully alongside the headboard, a locked glass cabinet which proudly displayed all manner of items which guests could use at their whims, and even a little pamphlet placed atop a wardrobe. A brief flick through it showed that it was an instruction manual, displaying all the hidden nooks and crannies that could be unfolded for more complex fun. An amusing thing to entertain within his head, but Mukuro had no doubt that, like with every other session, they would be keeping this one simple. Simple restraints from the bed and toys, with little else. Letting the pamphlet flop back into its place, he roamed further throughout the room to get a good feel for it while Chikusa diligently locked the door behind them and went to go drop the usual bag onto the bed. There were even windows, curiously enough, and Mukuro pressed one hand against the slick surface. For as much a price had no doubt been paid for renting the room, the view over the city was certainly worth enough. It was likely mirrored on the other side, too.

"Mukuro-sama." At the sound of his name, he turned about to face Chikusa, who had his usual outfit tucked underneath his arms. Still no change in what he would wear as the dominant party. What a pity. Idly, Mukuro wondered if he would ever bother to change for something new. Then again, perhaps that was what all his times being in the lead were for. Certainly he dressed Chikusa up enough. "I'm going to go change in the bathroom..." It was a simple warning, given more so that there would be no need to be suspicious or think too hard on where his subordinate was, before Chikusa turned away himself to disappear into a room in the side.

"So cold and professional," he said to the empty room, shoulders shaking a little and only for a moment in quiet laughter. Still, an empty room was one that he could indulge his curiosity with and never be chained to any sort of boredom. Immediately, he darted around curious as a cat. The mechanisms which unfolded out various BDSM equipment of the heavier sort worked smoothly, a fact which he amused himself experimenting with. When he investigated the various toys on display, it came with the knowledge that they apparently had to be bought, a fact which didn't particularly surprise him in the least. Toys would have to be _cleaned_ after use, for one thing, and that wasn't even mentioning the fact that people probably made attempts to steal them on occasion instead of doing the obvious thing in bringing their own ahead of time. For anyone indulging in a bit of capitalism, this sort of thing was only to be expected.

He was in the middle of sliding back a bit of paneling on the ceiling which revealed a brilliant shining mirror when he spoke over his shoulder. "You didn't tell me to change myself, so I hope you don't expect me to be punished for that." A smile was flashed over to Chikusa, whose hand closing the bathroom door behind him.

Chikusa blinked at him slowly, as lax and quiet as ever. "I guess not," he said at least, stepping forward. His heels clicked against wooden floors for only a couple of steps before hitting luxurious rug instead. "But then again... I like doing that sort of thing myself... Or while I can watch."

"Ha." Stepping away from the paneling, Mukuro pressed his hand up against Chikusa's chest where his fingers spread against the silky material. "Still so voyeuristic. But you've always been so observant, I suppose that sort of thing was only to be expected."

Chikusa's fingers folded slowly and with no small amount of firmness over his wrist, squeezing past the glove. "...Your turn."

True; this new mystery outfit was what had been his main source of anticipation after so long. Mukuro fell still, allowing his hand to go limp in Chikusa's grasp and be manipulated as the other man pleased. While he could have been rougher, and had been on at least a few occasions during these little sessions of theirs, he had never done so when it came to the subject of dressing or its opposite. No, as with the very first time, there was a kind of reverence to the way he slid Mukuro's gloves off, and that gentleness continued all the way until he was completely bare.

The subject of dressing up came up when Mukuro had his hands pressed down into the sheets at the foot of the bed, Chikusa behind him with his own fingers resting against his hips, and the bag in front of him. It seemed to press down into the bed a little more than it had in the past, Mukuro noted. Toys, so that Chikusa didn't have to waste anymore time or money borrowing that which the club offered them? At his subordinate's quiet encouragement, murmured into his shoulder, Mukuro reached over to start going through the bag... and quirked up an eyebrow at the first plastic-wrapped parcel that he withdrew. "This again?" he asked, turning it over so that the shine of the plastic could disappear and he could inspect the black lace outfit within clearly. No matter how much he looked it over, it appeared to be the very same outfit which he had grown to be so familiar with in sessions past. Not the slightest change. "I thought you said you were going for something new, Chikusa."

He adjusted his head, chin pressing down into the space where his mouth had been a moment before. "It's... a backup plan," he said slowly. "Just in case..." Mukuro wanted to ask what exactly he meant by that, but Chikusa forged on. "You can put it to the side for now... The real thing is past that."

Hmm. Clearly, Chikusa didn't have faith in the outfit he'd chosen in the end. Had he always thought to consider a Plan B, or had he lost his nerve at the last moment to grab something he knew had gone over well? Either way, Mukuro had waited long enough to see what he'd chosen in the first place. Tossing the packet lightly to the side, where it promptly slid off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, Mukuro slid his hand into the bag... and was met immediately with something far _sturdier_ than simple lace. He knew what it was even before his grip drew it out into the light.

Black leather shined _beautifully_ in the light of the room as Mukuro pulled one knee high boot out from its place, clearly well maintained before they had been packed for the journey. There were no markings on them, purposeful or accidental, and Mukuro marveled in appreciation of the way it curved into a rounded toe and thin heels. Pulling them out from their confinement revealed even more delights, however, and Mukuro made no attempt to hide his pleasure as he pulled out a pair of short and fingerless leather gloves. The patterns details into them were excellent. "My," he murmured, next out being a pair of _extremely_ short shorts which laced up to the side and were made of, of course, leather. "Have we really graduated to leather ensembles now? Although I suppose all this will do will make us match." His eyes glittered as he glances at Chikusa, still so close with his chin on his shoulder. "Not going to ask what I think?"

"I have eyes," Chikusa said, somehow so simple and honest that it barely came off as an insult the way it might have from other people's mouths. From him, it was merely a dry statement of fact. That didn't stop Mukuro from laughing a little regardless.

"Point," he conceded, mood too perfect for him to care even if Chikusa _had_ been more bitingly sarcastic. The shorts went with the boots and the gloves, put to the side until he was satisfied with turning the whole bag inside out. Boots, gloves, shorts- and then there was the real prize. The collar that emerged from the bag's depths wasn't expansive and detailed as its two predecessors had been. Those had truly been more like jewelry than a sign of ownership. Certainly, they covered the whole of his neck, and then a good deal more as they'd slunk along the curves of his shoulders with sweet delicacy. There was nothing delicate about the collar that was in his hands now. It wasn't even particularly complicated, although it was more than a plain strip of leather for his neck. No, it was _three_ plain strips of leather that were meant to wind around his neck, and one that swept down the middle with shiny pieces of metal which connected it. At the very end, hanging loose and waiting, was a large glimmering ring that begged for a leash all its own.

It was beautiful and enticing. Mukuro couldn't wait.

...So he didn't. His hair flowed liquidly against his back as he tilted his head to the side, needing only a brief flick of his hand to clear his neck of any errant strands. "Put it on me, please?" he asked, the last word a tease. While the collar in his hand was an offer, it was hardly much of one. They both knew what the answer would be, even before Chikusa extended his hand to take it. Against his back, Mukuro could feel the slow controlled way he was breathing, from the air to the rise of his chest. Feeling it all fall apart would be a pleasure on its own.

Still, if there was any pity to the event, it was that he couldn't watch Chikusa as well as he wanted to with the other man behind him like he was. Oh, sure, sure, it made putting on the collar easier. He knew that much. Yet he had rather liked the large mirrors they occasionally had access to, such as the first time with the black lace. Chikusa's gaze got such a focus to them when he was dressing Mukuro up, and he did so love to watch his subordinate's fingers at work. Feeling them adjust the collar around his neck, knuckles brushing into his hair or along his spine, was a decent enough second place he supposed. At least, he'd rather have that than have nothing. When Chikusa finally came to a stop, satisfied with the amount of tightness he'd adjusted the collar to, his hands didn't fall back down to Mukuro's hips. Instead, they lingered above, brushing against the curves of his shoulders. What sight was he admiring so much back there? "I could turn around for you if you want to stare," Mukuro offered, amused and honestly guessing if Chikusa was staring at all. With how much he knew the other boy, however, could it really be called much of a guess?

"...I'm fine with this one..." His hands trailed down the curve of Mukuro's back. "I think you would get us both distracted anyway..." Well, at that, he had to laugh. His subordinate had made yet another fair point. The pressure of Chikusa's body began to lean into him again, his face to Mukuro's shoulder. "There are still other things.."

That was the argument that really returned Mukuro's attention back on track. Humming in faint agreement, he slid his hands back into the bag once again. When he pulled out the next prize, well, he could see why Chikusa had been so insistent that he continue his delving. Held up in his hand, sleek and dark, was a wonderful little corset. It wasn't the same type as Chikusa's, which stretched over most of his torso and was half held in place by the suspenders attached to it. No, this was a smaller breed, meant to encompass his waist and no higher. There were no designs on it, laid into the leather, and there didn't need to be. There was something to be said for simplicity, whether in an article of clothing or followers such as Ken. "Now I can see why it took you so long," he said, openly satisfied as he held it against himself. "Were you sneaking my measurements, Chikusa?"

"I didn't need to sneak." Well, that was also true. This wasn't the first time Mukuro had indulged in dressing up, although usually it was him calling the shots for that kind of play. Chikusa let the words stay in the air where they were for a moment before saying quietly, "There's one more thing."

Right. How could he forget? Or, rather, Mukuro hadn't at all, but he had deigned to ignore its presence. Chikusa's words made it impossible to put off the moment any longer, unfortunately, and Mukuro set the corset to the side. The last item in the bag was not particularly large, or particularly detailed. It was light, and small, and Mukuro narrowed his eyes at the blindfold as he pulled it out from where it could have easily been forgotten. Like everything else that had been brought, it was made of leather, and flexible enough to bend against his eyes and block out most traces of light, let alone anything he could see. That much was obvious with one look. It offered no relief like the lace versions had, white or black; no wonder Chikusa had brought the other outfit along. It was _insurance_ , a viable backup plan in the face of something going wrong.

Behind him, Chikusa said nothing, did nothing. All he did was stay in place, eyes quietly focused on Mukuro in a way that pressed against his senses even when he wasn't looking at the other man. No doubt he was waiting to see his reaction. Well, he'd have to wait a little while longer. Mukuro had become a better actor than he had been as a teenager. At the very least, he could keep his thoughts hidden away until he deigned to show them. In a way, as he stared at the meager item in his hand, it was something of a stand off: which of them would speak first on the matter?

Mukuro already knew what his subordinate would say. It was easy, honestly. The most basic facts about Chikusa required no great skills of observation. He was loyal to Mukuro, and Mukuro above most anyone else besides save Ken, who barely counted really. Their relationship was like one being part of the other's body- it made about as much sense to say he was loyal to his arm. If he wasn't particularly pleased with the turn of events, he knew for a fact that Chikusa would agree with anything to please him, and easily suggest the outfit of black lace. At least, he would suggest the blindfold portion of that outfit, if Mukuro really made eyes at the leather set. That would be the simplest route to go through. He could say it, Chikusa would obey, and they'd continue on with the rest of the night in a way that was sure to be just as pleasurable as all the other ones had been. Easy. Common sense.

Yet the thought still _absolutely rankled_. It felt as though he would be giving up, giving in, revealing a part of himself he was loathe to show anyone else. It was Chikusa; perhaps it would be alright in this case. Still, still, still. His stubbornness dug in against his own distaste for the simple little thing that lay limply in his palm. What could he do? What route could he take?

In the end, as so often happened, his pride won out over anything else, and Mukuro finally roused himself with a small snort of amusement. At least, he knew that's what it would sound like. "I suppose it's only in your nature to get things that match from head to toe," he said simply, and, while he didn't hear it, he could feel the way Chikusa's breath slipped out from him in relief and his body eased up against his back. Yes, that was exactly like him. He had his own private desires, even with how much he cultivated so much for Mukuro's own interests, and, anyway, he _had_ gone through so much trouble to procure this entire outfit. If Mukuro didn't use it, then that would have been effort wasted. Chikusa hated few things less. His energy was such a precious commodity, after all. "Now, where shall we start first...?" Second, technically, but who was counting?

Feather light, Chikusa's touch had been almost non-existent, up until they curled around the curves of Mukuro's hips and squeezed down. It'd be a lie to say that the pressure didn't make some part of his body take attention. "The shorts." His skin tingled at the faintest brush of hair along his shoulder, and he could faintly make out Chikusa's head bowing down from the corner of his eye. "It would be the simplest before putting on the boots..."

"Oh?" Voice tinged with laughter, some of it even genuine and free of tension, Mukuro reached over to snag the shorts with one hand. With the other, he dropped the blindfold carelessly onto the sheets. "Did you notice me admiring them?"

"Mmm. You pulled them out first-" Chikusa's voice came to a pause, his breath stuttering. Mukuro couldn't imagine why. It wasn't as if he had just crouched down, bent over, and then risen up again with his ass grinding against the bulge he could feel pressing from Chikusa's pants. At least his shorts rose with him. His subordinate adjusted himself quickly enough, almost at an admirable speed, before he continued talking. "And... I know how you feel about boots." Mukuro could feel him adjust his position, and, with each word, he went to work on making sure the lacing up the sides of his shorts was done right and tight. There was nothing quite like the feel of string digging into his skin, flesh bulging out inbetween the diamond pattern which it formed formed.

"And how _do_ I feel about boots?"

"You have a collection," Chikusa deadpanned. As he moved to the other side of his shorts, he didn't wait long before offering the final nail in the coffin. "You made _Chrome_ have a collection."

He certainly had him _there_. Well, it wasn't a crime to be fond of something, or else Mukuro could no doubt point out Chikusa's own expansive hat collection which always seemed to find a new addition wherever they went. Chrome was a little harder to defend... but not impossible. "It's not as if you or Ken wear them unless I ask," Mukuro counted, brushing his palm against Chikusa's fingers and up his wrist.

"They'd be destroyed whenever he channels," Chikusa countered, allowing Mukuro's touch for a brief moment before sliding his hand away. "And he'd lose them. He barely remembers to wear shoes, unless it's winter, and cold enough." His arm pressed out from underneath Mukuro's, pointing out to the next article of clothing to be put on.

Handing over the corset, Mukuro raised an eyebrow. "And your excuse?"

Against his spine, he could feel the strings wind through, tingling where they brushed against him, serpentine. "It'd be too troublesome," Chikusa answered, giving a sharp pull.

Mukuro waited for his body to adjust to the sudden pressure encompassing his waist and for his lungs to regain air. "So only special occasions, then." Such as specifically pleasing him and when they had nothing else to occupy the night with. Chikusa didn't respond to that; there wasn't reason to when they both knew the answer.

In the silence, Mukuro could best appreciate the feel of leather claiming more and more of his body. Certainly, he had liked the lace outfits, whichever side of the monochrome that they fell onto. It was simply that he liked _all_ sorts of clothes, and he liked trying just as much on. Lace was fine, lace was wonderful... and so was leather. Better yet, while he often wore similar boots and the like, he'd never wore an entire outfit composed of it. It was sturdier than most clothing he wore on a day to day basis, and certainly sturdier than the lace he'd associated their sessions with. In a way, that was its best quality. The leather around his waist and neck didn't allow as much flexibility as the lace had, forcing his back to be straight if only to avoid the trivial discomforts. His hand caused the gloves which were slid onto it to squeak with every flex. Perhaps it was the detail in them, or how they were utterly fingerless, but Mukuro found himself immediately fond of their differences.

It was still the boots which he was looking forward to the most in the end. Tugging the gloves further down his hand, Mukuro opened his mouth for a question- only for one of Chikusa's hands to tug the bag off of its place and to the floor, and for his other to roughly shove Mukuro down onto the mattress. His body sunk into it to an almost ludicrous degree, vision briefly obscured with blankets, before he bounced up again laughing breathlessly. "Are you finally getting impatient?" he asked, looking over his shoulder and pressing himself up onto his side with one leg curling upwards. There wasn't a single doubt in his head that, from where Chikusa was standing, he made a picture perfect pin-up image.

What gave it away was way Chikusa's eyes, dark and deep with how his face was in shadow, shimmered with interest that was all for him, and only him. Mukuro knew better to think that he would be pounced upon so soon, however. Chikusa was rarely so obvious, and instead preferred to catch him off-guard when he took the lead. In these sessions, that trait had only become more and more obvious. Instead, he took one leg in his hand and bodily moved Mukuro onto his back. "The boots," he said simply, by way of explanation, one of his hands sliding up the inside of Mukuro's calf.

"Of course." Smirking lightly, his eyes tracked the movements of the taller man when he grabbed one of the boots in question. "Only that, I'm sure." Chikusa didn't indulge him with an answer. Then again, he did have to focus quite a bit on guiding Mukuro's foot into the boot, a task that was quite a bit different when it was leather contrast to a smooth lace stocking. Nothing really elegant or arousing could be said about the process, no, but Mukuro made do anyway. Chikusa's grip was quite solid for how bony he was, and his eyelids dipped every time that grasp dug in a little deeper into his leg.

When both boots were finally in their proper places, Chikusa straightened up with a heaved out sigh. There was no small annoyance in how he reached up, nudging his glasses further up the bridge of his nose although they didn't really need it. "Finally..."

How tired he sounded already. Now, that wouldn't do, not if they wanted to have a lasting night. Still sprawled out against the bed, Mukuro's smirk had moved about as much as he himself had. Arching his back a little bit, he raised one foot to glide up from the side of Chikusa's hip to his ribs where his corset hugged him tightly. He took it slow, relaxed- as tempting and teasing as Chikusa himself was to him so often. "Remember that you're the one who chose such a troublesome outfit for once," he said, laughing softly. "Would you really say that it isn't worth it?"

He knew the answer without Chikusa even having to speak. It was in the way his hand settled, light and possessive, along the ankle that was resting against his body. It was given away in that dark gaze, roaming slowly up from his legs to his hips to his chest, savoring every inch of skin and leather. They had known each other for years now, reaching into decades. Chikusa spoke a subtle and quiet language, beyond Italian or Japanese or English, and it was thanks to all those years of having him at his side that Mukuro was quite fluent. Happiness, aggravation... Lust. It was only expected that Chikusa's answer was a quiet, "No, it is." Not keen to remove his touch from Mukuro's leg just yet, he held out his other hand to him, palm up. Chikusa wasn't particularly strong in body, but he was strong enough to pull Mukuro up into a sitting position once their hands were linked. This was the same body which had pinned him to more than one surface, that had held him down while he'd thrashed in euphoric pleasure and wanting more. Even if it was only this little, it was enough to wet his appetite. Before he could wrap his legs around Chikusa, he was given a reminder of the main event when the other man let go of his hand. The last piece was still waiting on the sheets where Mukuro had discarded it before, meaning it was in easy reach from Chikusa's position. Mukuro grew a little chillier when it was brought back into his view, without meaning to, as he felt his own lips lose their smug smirk.

With Chikusa around, that was alright. The expression hadn't been on his face for long at all, barely a second, before his subordinate pressed in to brush their lips against one another. It was soft, sweet, until it suddenly wasn't. Mukuro didn't have any time at all to adjust from sweetness to roughness as Chikusa began to press him further and further back, his mouth hungrily devouring his own. He wanted to laugh, to tease, but he was given no breath for either option. All he could do was groan into Chikusa's mouth when he felt his tongue slide in against his, and that free hand dug in all the tighter against where his leg was positioned. They could have spent the night like that, tangled up in one another, if Chikusa hadn't pulled away first. A detached part of his mind which had been watching everything carefully knew the reason why: they'd have ended up sprawled against the bed if Chikusa had pressed any further and Mukuro had given anymore. With how the former had bothered to pull the latter up, that'd be yet another waste of energy especially for something that he was aiming for.

That didn't stop Mukuro from murmuring out a complaint, a huff slipping out of him. He didn't appreciate being spoiled, only for it to stop halfway.

One corner of Chikusa's mouth twitched, almost fondly if Mukuro felt like being delusional. "Soon," he muttered, raising up his hands and the blindfold with them. It took work for Mukuro to keep his body relaxed, shoulders slumped and legs loose. It hurt almost more than it would have if his entire body had gone tense with dislike, but he did it anyway. The blindfold pressed neatly against his face, following the curves of his nose and dips of his eye sockets well enough. In no time at all, he was almost utterly blind. Now, more than ever, he was reliant upon what he could hear, and what he could feel.

For the latter, it was simple, so far. The mattress was still beneath him, welcoming his weight, and he could still feel Chikusa's meager warmth inbetween his legs. Most important were the sensation of his fingers, brushing along his hair as he drew the blindfold's strings securely around Mukuro's head. They weren't heavy touches, and they weren't particularly notable if not for Mukuro's particular kink regarding his hair and how his entire world was now restricted to one less sense out of all of them. His fingers ghosted over his hair, barely brushing against it, at least for the most part. Occasionally, his nails slipped in a little deeper, almost enough to tease his sensitive scalp but never going far enough. Finally, Chikusa's fingers left him entirely, and it was only his warmth and the slow soft sound of his breathing which told Mukuro where he was. "Not too tight?" he asked, voice much louder somehow in the artificial darkness Mukuro had to deal with.

Its very existence, wrapped around his head, was too tight. Mukuro didn't say that. Instead, he breathed out a chuckle. "So fussy. You take so much care when it comes to these sort of things, do you really think it would be?"

"I don't know," Chikusa answered bluntly. "I want to make it as good as possible for you."

That honesty, plain and outright, never failed to put him at ease. It was almost funny, frankly speaking. He could live in the most protected castle in the world, and Mukuro knew that the only thing he would have confidence in wouldn't be the walls, or guards, or security measures, but his own ability to protect himself. The only exception would be the words that come out of his followers mouths... Especially, he had to admit, when it was Chikusa speaking.

Perhaps he deserved it. Unlike Chrome, who had practically been a perfect fit for him and his goals the moment he had met her, Chikusa had worked for years to do whatever he could in the name of the very same.

So when Chikusa reached to tough him again, fingers gliding over his hair and caressing his cheek, Mukuro allowed himself to take some sort of hidden reassurance in the gesture. It helped that this was a process which Chikusa had repeatedly gone with many times before. First it was his head, occasionally interrupted by an indulgent stroke of his hair, before he inevitably drifted downwards to Mukuro's chest. When he slid his fingers instead through the metal hoop that had been resting along Mukuro's chest, he stirred a little in interest.

"Maybe," Chikusa muttered, half to himself, "I should have brought a leash..."

Mukuro laughed again, delighted at the imagery. "If you do that, I expect ears and a tail as well," he replied, cheeks pressing up into the blindfold as he grinned. "There's no going halfway with a promise like that."

The fingers slipped out again, letting the ring fall lightly against Mukuro's chest. "Ken would be jealous." His touch reappeared again, sliding just around one of Mukuro's nipples until he squirmed.

"I keep telling you to bring him."

"Later."

"Which _you_ keep saying."

Chikusa didn't have an argument against his predictability. Instead, his comeback came in the form of his fingers pinching suddenly around pert nipple and _twisting_. Mukuro hissed, body jerking from the pain which shot through him and left tingling pleasure in its aftermath. The position was held for what seemed like an eternity, likely only maybe half a minute at most, before Chikusa released him. While the pain eased up, the quivers of pleasure lingered for a good while longer. Mukuro started to reach up, only to remember himself and dug his fingers back into the sheets again. "Ah," Chikusa said, the sound more of an exhale than any attempt at a word. "I thought of something..."

He wanted to point out that this was nothing new, that Chikusa was _always_ thinking of something which was half of why they were in their current situation. Half of it was just his personality. The other half was hoping that such words would hopefully earn another pinch. Yet perhaps that would be too obvious. Before he could make a decision on it either way, he felt Chikusa's fingers slide underneath one knee and gently pull his leg away from his body. "What are you doing?" he asked instead, pressing upwards a little with his weight on his elbows.

"Just getting something..." Chikusa, as expected, didn't outright tell him what. His fingers only lingered along the skin right outside of where the boot stretched over Mukuro's legs, stroking as if in comfort, before he pulled away. At least, even if the rug muffled most noise, there was no way to really muffle the sound of Chikusa's footsteps while he was in his heels. Mukuro listened sharply as footsteps thumped against the rug, and then became clicks once again a little further away nearer to the exit. That's where they came to a stop; obviously Chikusa would never leave him in this position. Instead, something slid against and pulled at cloth, and a small click followed after it. A whisper, then, of something sliding sharply against something else- Mukuro couldn't quite tell what the material was although he could have swore that he had heard it before. It took the sound of something rattling lightly, clicking open, for him to identify what had to have happened. There had been a glass case near the entrance to the room, all sorts of things on display, and _that_ had to be what had just opened. A closet would have been different. Why would there be the sound of something sliding and not just the plain click of a lock or knob turning? Yet if a case had a place for a credit card to swipe through for the purchase of something...

It didn't take him nearly as long to realize what it was that Chikusa had decided they needed. Chains rustled together, a chorus of little clinks adding up all together into something thicker and more entwined. With all the time he'd had to investigate the room, Mukuro could clearly draw up in his mind's eye the array of toys that had been on display, and the only one that matched the noise he was currently listening to was...

"Handcuffs again, Chikusa?" Mukuro cocked his head to the side, mentally following the sound of footsteps as they began to drawn near once more. "Here I thought I had become good enough to go without. Or are the rules becoming far more strict?"

The clicks became thumps, which came to a stop in front of Mukuro. "It's not for that, this time... You've been adapting well. But... Since there's leather already involved... I thought you'd want to add something extra as well."

One could argue that the blindfold, opaque and impassible, was 'extra' enough. Mukuro wouldn't be that person. Instead, he breathed out a faint sound that could be a laugh, if one wanted to be flexible enough. "Next you'll be busting out a cat of nine tails," he teased. Even as he said it, the idea was incredibly tempting. Mukuro had never considered it before, but he was always willing to try something at least once... There was no down side. Either he would find something new to play with and enjoy, or he would have ammo for his illusions, which required constantly adding new things to the repertoire. "Still, do cuff me up, officer." Oh, Chikusa in a police uniform- that was _better_ than the whipping idea. Lost in his own fantasies, if only a little bit, he offered his hands up with the heels of his palms touching.

Chikusa didn't accept the gracious gift. Instead, what had to be his free hand lay lightly across the both of them. "Not... in front of you."

Oh _ho_. Mukuro withdrew his hands, and his mouth drew upwards slyly. "Now where could you want them?" he asked, knowing a good few possibilities and eager to see which of them Chikusa chose.

One thump, and another, both of them away from Mukuro. "Stand up."

That was an order if he had ever heard one. What punishment would there be if he was too slow? Partially out of that burning little interested, he took his time, but it was only partially. Mukuro had more than once incorporated heels into his wardrobe, for whatever reason. Gender roles were too restrictive for a true illusionist, and that went double when one lived as many lives as he had. Restrictive, meaningless. It was exactly _because_ he was used to heels that he took care in pressing one down against the floor, adjusting his foot here and there to get a rough idea of how the boot fit against his shoes and digging down into the floor. Every heeled shoe was different, and it was one thing to test them out normally. Testing his balance and how his weight would press down while he was completely blind? That was troublesome in an entirely new way, and Mukuro had no interest in making a clumsy fool out of himself. So he tested how even a little bit of weight felt on the heel before rising to his feet, spreading his legs out as he stood so that his balance wasn't in so much danger.

The good news was that he wasn't punished. The further annoying news was that Chikusa seemed to take in his stance, where Mukuro's hand rested on one hip, before there was a soft hum in his direction. "Now... Turn around."

"Are you asking for a runway show?" Mukuro asked dryly. Still, it wasn't a difficult request, and he was feeling more confident in his ability to walk in heels like this besides. If he was judging by his hearing right, then Chikusa was a good yard away or so... Which meant he could take a couple of steps, sliding his other hand through his hair, before twisting around as had been demanded of him.

There was a beat of silence from Chikusa before he spoke up again."I wasn't asking for that kind of thing, actually..." Deserts aspired to be as dry as Chikusa's voice could be. "But I guess that works too..."

"Perhaps that will be a lesson in specifying things," Mukuro hummed, listening to Chikusa's heels click and thump closer to him. The other man didn't come close enough for his breath to rustle through the hairs on his neck, or his body heat to curl into his. There was simply nothing, and then the feeling of long sturdy fingers wrapping around the wrist of the hand that was on Mukuro's hip. Even at room temperature, the metal of the handcuffs was still far cooler than the heat of his skin. A shiver shuddered its way up through his body. If there was a small blessing, it was that there was some sort of rubber or similar material on the insides of the cuffs as Chikusa slid them properly over his wrist, right over the gloves. No doubt it was to make sure that people didn't get too injured during their playing, especially if things got particularly rough. When Chikusa pulled down his other hand to join the other, behind Mukuro's back, his body had adjusted to the temperature. It didn't react at all as the next part of the handcuffs joined the same position as the other.

A single thump gave away how Chikusa had stepped back, undoubtedly to take stock of the image he had just created. "There... No complaints?"

Testingly, Mukuro tugged at the handcuffs, and twisted his wrists this way and that. "They could be a little more secure," he noted, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "I believe I could escape these without using any of my illusions at all."

Chikusa made the softest of noises, a muffled little thing that had gotten choked out in the back of his throat. "They're for play," he said, as if he hadn't made an almost-laugh. "If you want something more restrictive... I'm sure I could find things which would bind your entire arms. But..." One finger suddenly pressed into his back at the very top of his spine, parting through the hair which cascaded down it. Slowly, he began to drag it down his back. "Later."

"Tease," Mukuro breathed, curving his spine against Chikusa's touch. "Promising me something and then not delivering right away."

"Isn't that just expected by now...?" His hand stopped not too far from Mukuro's ass, where his wrists were cuffed and his hands were folded together. "That's... the best part."

"I always knew you were a quieter kind of sadist." The words left him automatically. More of his attention was focused on where Chikusa's hands were lingering, waiting for them to dip into the back of his shorts or tug at the chain between the handcuffs. He had no idea which his subordinate would go with; that only made waiting for the surprise more exciting. "I am interested to see what sort of things you would choose."

The metal at his wrists tugged against them, chains clinking where they were connected- that had to be Chikusa's finger tugging lightly at them. The pressure didn't suggest more than one. "Mm. That sort of thing would take even longer." His cuffs went loose again, hanging simply against the base of his hands. Thump, thump, click. "You spent a lot of time looking around the room, didn't you...? I want you to walk through it."

Such a demand really made Mukuro want to raise up an eyebrow and cock his head to the side. The only problem there was that if he tried to direct it to Chikusa, there as a high chance that he'd be "looking" somewhere completely different from where the other man truly was. While perhaps being embarrassed didn't mean much when he was already dressed as he was, he did like to have some measure of control over how he presented. So he settled for turning only slightly, head bowed and tilted only a little to the sound of Chikusa's voice. Without his hands free, this was as much as he could do. "Is that a humiliation fetish I'm sensing?" he asked. "After all, Chikusa, I've only had a few minutes to get used to it."

"Isn't that enough time for you...?" Why, that little... Heels clicked a few more times against hard wood, before there was the soft impact of a body falling into the cushions of an armchair that he had noted earlier. "You can take as long as you want... That's fine. I don't mind waiting..."

Of course he wouldn't mind waiting. "Are you merely trying to escape from doing any actual work?" Mukuro asked sardonically, not quite managing to match the dryness Chikusa's own voice could go to. Still, he tapped his heel against the floor thoughtfully. Perhaps it was simply the way that Chikusa had phrased things, pricking at his pride or his need to show off... but now it was a struggle to go against the challenge. Belatedly, he remembered that he was technically still supposed to follow Chikusa's orders during their sessions. Right, right. That was also a reason to go along with it. Subconsciously, he relaxed. When it came to the rule of "Follow Chikusa's orders", in this case, he could go along with his pride and it was perfectly acceptable.

One half of the challenge was his blindness. The other half was the fact that it was impossible to use his hands, at least without walking backwards while simultaneously looking like a fool. With that under consideration, Mukuro first went about creating a mental map in his head of the room. It wasn't perfect, but that was fine. All he needed was a rough idea of it, as if he were creating an illusionary double. Even the basic shapes were enough. He was a few steps away from the bed, which was large in its own right, and, behind him, it was longer to reach the wall, and to the left was the chair Chikusa was waiting in...

Crafting a decent map within his own skull took a little bit, at least until he was satisfied with it. Next came movement. If Chikusa said he could take his sweet time with going about things, then he would gladly take advantage of the offer. Slowly, swaying his hips to both tantalize his subordinate and hopefully distract him from anything else about Mukuro's movements, he stepped forward until a part of his leg moved into the bed. In his head, he adjusted the mental map accordingly, even as he turned away from it. Following the bed as it brushed against the side of his leg allowed him to go around the curve of it, until, then, a thud of his boot into a something thin which rattled- a table leg. The bedside table then, which lead him to the wardrobe, which had him passing over to one side of the room...

It was a long, careful event where his heels wobbled occasionally under him almost like a threat. Amazing how much his lack of sight put him on edge for a task that would have ground him into boredom otherwise. His sight gone, and his pride out in full force- that was the more accurate way of it. It didn't matter that he was far away from any prying eyes, or that Chikusa was his most trusted. He couldn't bear to look a clumsy idiot. So he navigated the room carefully, aware of his precarious balance and just as aware that he could walk right into something. When he was over by what he was sure was the glass toy case, his arm brushing against its smooth glass surface, Chikusa's voice broke the silence.

"Come over here." Quiet, firm, it stroked down from Mukuro's ears all the way down his spine as if the other man was touching him. Chikusa rarely used such a voice; hearing it was a delight.

Still, he wouldn't be himself if he said nothing. "I thought you said I had as much time as I wanted?" Mukuro asked, flipping his hair with a toss of his head and bending one knee coyly. "I still wanted to explore a little more." That was a lie. He didn't care at all about wandering blindly in a room, no matter how big and luxurious it was.

Chikusa said nothing. This wasn't unusual, for a few moments. He did take so long to bother with words, occasionally, annoyed by even the effort which was required for a regular conversation. Yet as the seconds dragged on, the silence became more and more aggravating. Part of why the other man was such a good assassin, Mukuro remembered suddenly, because he had _zero_ presence. When he was really trying, he might as well have been air, might as well have been nothing at all. He'd never really bothered to try before when it came to their sessions... and Mukuro couldn't tell if he was more worked up or less that it was only happening now. It was good that he'd never played such games with him before, but for him to deal with it at all...

He still had to be sitting down. Mukuro reminded himself of that firmly. Even with Chikusa's abilities at stealth, he couldn't stop a pair of heels from being noisy. That went doubly true when the floors were as sturdy as these ones. With that in mind, he reoriented himself in what of the room he had mapped out behind the darkness of the blindfold. With mixed true and fake confidence, he began to stride in the direction he was certain the armchair was resting. " _Chikusa_."

Only when he was halfway across the room, commendably having not smashed into anything against all odds, did Chikusa speak up again. His soft voice came from the exact direction he had been walking towards. "I didn't want to repeat myself."

Mukuro paused, almost surprised at hearing his subordinate again although he took care not to show it on his face. "So _that's_ what your cold shoulder was," he said. Blithely, he had to say it blithely. At least Chikusa's voice was enough to slow his stride, taking care all over again as if he hadn't almost come running. Clearly it was better to keep going towards him anyway if that was the kind of thing that he would do. "For a punishment, I was expecting something a _lot_ more severe." His foot bumped into something, soft and easily moved- Chikusa's own boot, he realized quickly enough. Judging by the angle he'd hit, at least one leg had to be stretched out lazily.

Only then was there the sound of cloth shifting against cloth, Chikusa making himself a little more comfortable. The boot Mukuro had bumped against moved away for a fraction of a second again before returning, this time grazing against the side of his own leg. "It doesn't need to be severe to work."

"Now I'm _certain_ you're being lazy." As if he hadn't gotten so worked up, literally walking straight into Chikusa's ploy as had no doubt been intended. Well, as long as he kept faking it, then no one had to know. "Now why could you have wanted me here, I wonder?"

"...On your knees." Out of all the options he could have gone with, Mukuro suppose that choice wasn't particularly surprising. When someone was sitting down, entertaining themself with leather and handcuffs, there were only so many routes they could really go when the object of their desire was right in front of them. At least this way, he wouldn't have to worry about keeping his balance riding dick. The only balance he had to worry about was the one regarding his heels. Still, he'd walked around long enough, he felt. He could manage enough with this pair. Carefully, he adjusted one foot ahead of him, pressing his weight towards the toe instead of his precarious heel. Much the same was done with his other leg, although the knee there began to point down towards the ground instead of up to the ceiling. Slowly, he began to go lower, and his fingers kneaded into his palms with every inch he descended. Somehow, this was yet another thing that felt uncertain with the addition of the blindfold. He knew, roughly, where the floor was compared to him, the length of his legs down to his feet where they met hard wood. Still, there was that anxiety, that wondering question of when his knee would hit the ground. It was a relief to finally have it there, and much easier, then, to balance on it so that his other leg could sweep into the same position.

With his attention freed up from that undertaking, Mukuro turned up the sharpness of his smirk and tilted his head up in the direction he was certain Chikusa was. It helped that he could feel his leg brushing against his arm, the curve of it telling him that he was on the inside and not out. "Is this the kind of view you were angling for the entire time?" Mukuro murmured, rolling his head to the other side. His hair fells silkily along his back and over his shoulder. "Me inbetween your legs, just waiting for your next move?"

He was sure that he was right. Chikusa could be so demanding, sometimes, in his own quiet way where it almost didn't seem like he was demanding anything at all. Instead of indulging in his confidence, Chikusa only sighed softly, a sound that rustled through the air. "You... talk too much sometimes." Mukuro snorted sharply, not particularly surprised at the criticism when it came from such a quieter personality as Chikusa's. "I think... you need to put your mouth to a different use."

Who knew such crude and obvious innuendo could fall from his Chikusa's lips? Mukuro leaned forward, attention ensnared by the words. "Well, you don't need to say that twice..." It became apparent quickly that he would get no help from his subordinate, however. He tried to wait, to see if there would be anymore sounds of movement, or if there would be fingers digging into his hair for a firm grip, but neither came. This, too, would have to be something that he would have to manage while utterly blind. In that aspect, perhaps the leg he could feel to one side was the one lifeline he would be allowed to have. Annoying, but not impossible to deal with. If anything, perhaps it would be a challenge... and an opportunity to tease Chikusa even more. Leaning forward, favoring one side in particular, Mukuro kept going until his lips were brushing against smooth fabric that wrinkled slightly from even that much pressure. Gently, taking in every little detail he possibly could with skin alone, he nuzzled further into the leg. Even past the fabric, there wasn't a sense that this part of the leg was particularly bony, at least like Chikusa's calves were. At least, so he thought until he tilted his face downwards, and was met with something hard and curved. So then, he was right around his knee...

Which meant he wasn't too far away from the inside of Chikusa's thighs, or the prize he was seeking. There was no way he would be able to reach it by staying in one place, unfortunately. He'd have to move. That wasn't a particularly exciting prospect, considering the wood underneath his knees, but fine. It wasn't the worst surface to be on. Slowly, he began to shuffle forward, taking care not to go too far and pitch forward like an absolute ass. As he did so, he kept mouthing further up along Chikusa's thigh, shifting from the top to inside. Underneath his mouth, the fabric stayed mostly stretched and smooth, interrupted only by a ripple once or twice. The real victory was when he could fee it start to curve, cloth beginning to bunch up together towards the middle, and his lips curled into a smirk against the joint where leg and pelvis met. That took less time than he thought it would...

There wasn't much time for him to be smug about it. Perhaps there was a reason it hadn't taken long, and that was that it was balanced when he mouthed his way over to where Chikusa's cock was supposed to be. Instead of hot, soft flesh, his mouth was greeted with only a bulge in the cloth, thick and waiting. Of _course_ he hadn't bothered to unzip himself; why do that when he could simply be lazy? He technically _did_ have someone else to do such trivial work for him... Mukuro gave a sulky huff, hot air gusting right over the bulge and back into his face. Up above, Chikusa made a soft noise that could have been either a faint laugh or noise of arousal. It was hard to tell.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to go about it, then Mukuro would gladly play along with this game. Opening his mouth wide, his tongue lolling out, he lapped at the bulge he had been nosing into only a moment ago. Even as he did so, he could feel Chikusa jerk underneath him, and hear a sharp intake of breath over his head. Smug and encouraged, he repeated the motion, and then pressed in closer to wrap his mouth around what he possibly could. There was no cloth on earth that actually tasted _good_ to anyone's tongue. If anything, the wetness of his saliva soaking through the fabric only made it worse, the particular smell of it already slinking up into his nostrils. Yet it was all worthwhile when he felt Chikusa's body quake, and his already notable bulge seemed to grow firmer from what Mukuro could tell. Smirking around the bulge, Mukuro toyed with him some more, licking and sucking small portions that were as close to Chikusa's cock as he could with such a barrier in the way.

It was only entertaining for so long, with the taste of cloth on his tongue. Mukuro pulled away with a pop, and made a production of licking his lips slowly. Sneaking up his nose was the thick sound of damp cotton. That was enough playing with his food; now he was interested in the main course. Ignoring the smell of wet clothing, he nudged in close again and felt his way up with his nose. It was a pleasant surprise to reach the top of Chikusa's pants and realize that the button was already popped open, his nose brushing against an open flap with an empty hole. So his subordinate could be gracious to some degree when it came to this... or even his impressive patience had started to run into its limits.

That was musing for another time. In the present, Mukuro nudged the flap open a little more, lips searching out cool metal in record time. Had he undone his corset, too, or was it simply further along his body than looking would have suggested...? It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was his mouth brushing against Chikusa's zipper, tongue flicking it upwards so that he could take it inbetween his teeth. While it was slow going, dragging it downwards in such a clumsy fashion, that only meant the feeling of victory dragged itself out longer as he felt the pants loosen further and further. Perhaps that was helped along by the cock he could feel straining up against the underwear still there, which he could tell was present by a couple accidental brushes of his nose. A pity there was one more obstacle in the way... but he doubted it was much of one. As the zipper jolted into something, no doubt the end of the line for it, Mukuro released it from his mouth and leaned back with a breath. Such a minuscule endeavor hadn't particularly tired him out or hurt his jaw, so that wasn't why he was taking a moment of reprieve for himself.

No, it was an ache from somewhere much further south, to his surprise. Mukuro knew he could be easily aroused on occasion, more from reacting to his own followers' feelings that they gave off instead of anything from inside of him, or sometimes running high on his own sense of being in control, being worshiped. He hadn't thought that a little session like this would have his cock straining against the tight leather of his shorts, drawing the strings laced up the sides a little tighter into his flesh. Now, certainly this wasn't a kink of his... although perhaps it was more knowing that, even blindfolded and restrained, on his knees, he could still draw up such reactions from one of his subordinates. That had to be it, then. Mukuro decided on that much, before not bothering to decide on anything else. There was something more pressing to take care of. To be exact, it was pressing up against the inside of Chikusa's underwear.

With the zipper taken care of, all he had to do was lean a little closer, pressing his nose down against Chikusa's stomach where it brushed against the leather of his corset. It took a little bit of flexing his tongue and digging his teeth in... but in the end, he had to say it felt a great deal easier to pull Chikusa's underwear down than it had been to deal with his zipper. With that released, he could smell the heady warm scent of Chikusa's cock, and almost swore that he could feel it as it went past his face to stand out. When he let go of the underwear, he could only, unfortunately, imagine what it looked like erect and with elastic digging into it from beneath. Even imagining had him flick his tongue out against his lips, however.

"So aroused already?" he asked, as if he could see what state Chikusa was in. "And to think I haven't even done anything yet."

Beneath him, Mukuro could feel the other man stir with his legs brushing against his sides again. "I think... you've done plenty."

"But not enough, hm?"

"Definitely not enough."

Well, it wasn't as if he _really_ needed verbal confirmation, but Mukuro still took no small delight in hearing it. With that needless permission given, he leaned in close once again to nuzzle his way up from where cloth was bunched up together. Chikusa's arousal was silky and warm against his skin as he brushed into it, first with his nose and then with his cheek as his tongue slipped out again for a quick swipe. A pity that Chikusa didn't react so strongly to that action as he had the ones before; Mukuro supposed he had used up his element of surprise. That didn't mean he was barred from having fun. With the teasing done with, he turned his head properly to face the hot cock at his face. He only needed a momentary nuzzle to confirm his place against him before his tongue began to lap against the length. Underneath wet saliva, the cock throbbed for him with every gesture of his tongue. As he did so, over the sound of his licking, he could hear Chikusa's efforts to keep cool as slow shuddering breaths disturbed the air, and thus his hearing. It only encouraged Mukuro to keep his pace instead of moving faster, making slow progress up his cock until every single little centimeter was made slick with his saliva. Even when he made it to the top, the curve of the cock's head disturbing a mostly smooth (if veiny) length, he didn't slide his lips over it. Instead, he used the very tip of his tongue to toy around the edges, and dip into the very top of it, an action which made it twitch sharply. Over his head, Chikusa inhaled particularly sharply, still trying to keep himself quiet. So stubborn, so stubborn. Clearly Mukuro would have to step up his game until Chikusa couldn't stand it any longer.

Pressing a kiss to the tip, Mukuro began to mouth his way down his cock, wrapping his lips around the width of it instead of the length, sucking on sensitive skin and then kissing it to torment him a little more. In moments like this, the blindfold was the worst thing in the world. There was no way to look upwards and watch the minuscule ways that Chikusa's face would twist, trying to control himself so badly. Instead, he had to guess based off of the minute twitches of his leg against Mukuro's arm, or the way he could feel flesh jerk and jump in his mouth. Somehow, that only made him want to try harder, and he gave a particularly hard suck near the very base of Chikusa's cock where his nose brushed against hair. If he couldn't see Chikusa, than he'd have to settle for drawing out a moan for him to hear instead.

That was the plan, at least. With how sedate and still Chikusa tended to be, Mukuro never failed to be caught a little off-guard when he surged into motion against him. This time, fingers suddenly tangled through his hair with a firm grip and _twisted_. His entire body went stiff, a rough moan of his own tearing up out of his throat. There wasn't a chance to resist, however he possibly could have. Instead, he helplessly followed the pull as Chikusa dragged him upwards, his knees digging harder into the wood. It felt so good, too good, and he nearly welcomed the probing sensation of that hot, solid length as it pressed up into the corner of his mouth. "Impatient," he managed to gasp, his own arousal throbbing hard against leather, before he was forced down. Chikusa's cock wasn't particularly thick, or wide. That didn't mean it wasn't more than enough to fill his mouth as it slipped past his lips, bearing down heavily against his tongue. Eyelashes fluttering behind the blindfold, Mukuro moaned again as it went a little deeper before stopping completely. They both knew that, if he wanted, Chikusa could press straight into his throat, and that Mukuro could handle it. He'd ask, then, why the hold up... if not for a certain problem blocking his words.

It was less a problem when he felt Chikusa's fingers slowly knead into his hair, nails scraping at his scalp, and Mukuro moaned again with such intensity that his legs quivered. Beneath him, there was a small jerk. Above him, air hissed out from inbetween teeth. He only had that brief second to recognize both things before Chikusa tugged him upward again, his grip only tightening further in his hair. What happened next was only expected; Mukuro wasn't dim. This time, at least, he could relax both mouth and throat properly before he was pushed down again, cock grinding down against his tongue. Same as before, Chikusa drew him around halfway before pulling him up, although not letting his lips slip off the head. It took a little bit of thought to keep his teeth out of the way of the action, which was harder than Mukuro would have thought it to be. Somehow, the rhythmic feeling of Chikusa pushing him down and pulling him made his brain want to shut off, as much as he opposed the idea. In the past, he'd never shied away from using his followers as tools or toys, whichever was needed... He couldn't have expected himself to fall into the same reason why it might be so pleasurable. No wonder Ken and Chikusa allowed it so easily, although he could never dream of doing it more than this once.

At least half a dozen thrusts into his mouth, always to that partway point instead of all the way, had passed when Chikusa finally began to press him a little further. Hot flesh pressed past his tongue, ignoring the way it arched into the arousal, and began to intrude upon his throat. It was the slightest of intrusions, a test gauging his reaction, before it pulled back again. There wasn't any need to worry. Automatically, not thinking and not needing to think, Mukuro had relaxed his throat in anticipation. That nothing took the invite was almost a disappointment. Fortunately, that didn't last long. With the next thrust came an even further delve down into his throat, and the muscles in his throat twitched from the suffocating feeling. He was being choked from the inside out, air barely able to pass through, and the pressure of lungs which grew needier by the second had him shudder. Almost immediately, he was reminded of the times they had spent in the past, with Chikusa's fingers wrapped around his neck and his dull eyes sparking with interest. Arousal by association made his cock jerk in his shorts. At this point, the pressure locking it in place was _unbearable_. All that kept him from squirming and rutting against the ground or Chikusa's leg was how the thrust of his cock into his mouth was a far greater distraction. At least, it was a distraction enough to keep him from doing anything.

He'd finally gotten used to it, the hot weight that filled up his throat, when the tugging in his hair worsened. Chikusa's fingers practically _tore_ him off of his cock, no gentleness of any sort. All he could do was gasp, bruised lips parted and moaning, his tongue pressing out in want of what he'd just been refused. Unfair, _unfair_ , right when he was sure that the tip had been twitching, wanting for release, deep where he could directly swallow it all up. So lost in his own arousal and frustration, Mukuro nearly missed how the breath over his head had changed. No longer were they forced into quiet, soft hisses or quick little inhales. Instead, Chikusa was outright panting, and there was enough force in the sound of it for little to be left to the imagination. They ground out through the hair like sandpaper on skin; Mukuro knew exactly how much his chest had to be heaving in that moment. Were those plain and pale eyes darkened with emotion? Did a flush color the curves of his cheeks, and the arch of his throat? If only he could see, and admire.

Then again, even if he could see, it seemed as though Chikusa wouldn't have given him much time for the view. To his left, a squealing scrape of a noise sounded off, and the cushions let out a breath of relief as the body atop them rose up. Mukuro rose with him, guided still by that hand fisted in his hair, and he hissed as well before he was forced downwards. His own heels, although nowhere near as bad as Chikusa's, made getting his balance difficult as his body was twisted around, face to the floor. His wrists twisted in the cuffs, fingers flexing, but it was no use. Those fingers in his hair kept him pinned, and it wasn't long before another set slipped around his hips. Even before there was a tug, he realize what it was Chikusa was aiming for. Breathless with surprise and anticipation, he laughed and hitched his hips upwards exactly as silently demanded. With his wrists cuffed behind him and his knees straining against the floor to wave his ass in the air, he had to make an enticing sight. Mukuro didn't have to guess on that front; he could tell from the way Chikusa hissed in another quick breath.

Instead of tugging his shorts down over the curve of his ass and down to his knees, fingers ghosted over the side of his leg, up to where the leather was digging in underneath the laces. His shorts jerked against him as those fingers tugged and toyed with the strings that corseted up the side. It took him a moment to realize what Chikusa was aiming for, and all he could do was grin into the floor as the laces began to ease up, falling away from his leg. "It would have been quicker to just tug it down," he said, voice still hoarse from how deeply he had taken Chikusa's cock.

Around his ass, the leather fell away, going limp against the leg that was still effectively clung to with leather and string. "Probably," Chikusa murmured, his own voice around as rough as Mukuro's from his own bottled up arousal. A retort wasn't allowed, wasn't given time to leave Mukuro's lips. Instead, Chikusa's free hand dug into one firm cheek, spreading it and his hole wide open. Without any more waiting or words, he thrust right in, and Mukuro hissed as he was rocked against the floor. It was more than the movement digging into the floor that electrified his spine. It was how rough Chikusa had entered him, cock grinding right in with barely anything to ease the friction. Saliva made for lube when you needed something in a pinch, but it wasn't the best thing to go with. Then again, it wasn't as if any of them had really ever cared about that, so long as injury didn't occur. If anything... Feeling sparks of pain from the way Chikusa buried himself in right to the hilt only made it better, and Mukuro shuddered as his hips pressed right into his ass. For a brief, fleeting moment, the two of them stayed still like that with Chikusa bent over him, weight against one end and also at the exact opposite where his fingers pressed down into Mukuro's hair. Perhaps he was catching his breath; Mukuro knew he was. Yet after only a couple of seconds where their hot and heavy breaths filled the room, Chikusa moved his hips away, withdrawing slightly, before slamming into him again, and again, and again.

It was far from the most comfortable position, his knees dug into the hard floor almost as hard as his face. The leather boots offered not nearly enough protection. From anyone else, Mukuro wouldn't have stood for it, sex or not. Then again, from other people, he wouldn't have stood for the blindfold, the handcuffs, any of it. Yet Chikusa, dependable and loyal and bluntly honest, with him things were different. With him, Mukuro barely needed to think. He could simply let himself be swept up in the rough pleasure given to him so forcefully, with his mind washed away at each deep thrust Chikusa gave him. How well he knew him, how familiar he had made himself with his master's body where he could angle his hips just right to smash right up into the spot inside of Mukuro which had him jerk and yell. His feet kicked up into the air before crashing down into the floor, but he barely noticed. With Chikusa's fingers drawing out more bursts of pleasurable pain, with his cock reaching into the deepest parts of him, how could he? There was hardly any way to notice how the floor beneath him had become a little slick. Behind the blindfold, tears of mingled feeling stung at his eyes, an experience that he hardly ever went through.

No wonder Chikusa had taken so long before he had gotten to this point where he could fuck Mukuro silly into the floor, his panting breath barely audible over the sound of flesh smacking into flesh and Mukuro's own cries of pleasure and pain. This is what all the teasing had lead up to, the toys and fingerfucking and careful observation of his every move. He'd wanted to know the best way to reduce him to a lump of flesh against the floor, his spine arching as he tried to curve back to meet those thrusts and his own arousal fit to burst. As it bobbed inbetween his legs, dripping precum down onto the floor, Mukuro moaned wantonly. He was't being touched again where he wanted it most. He knew what Chikusa wanted. He knew the other man wanted him to cum, hands free, solely from that sweet spot in his ass that made Mukuro spasm everytime it was mercilessly slammed into. No matter how much he moaned, no matter how many times he cried out, there would be no point. Chikusa would keep going exactly like this, leaving him to shake in desire beneath him. Possibly even when he'd already come, leaving Mukuro filled sloppily, ass still in the air. That sort of mental image involving Chikusa of all people might have been a silly thing, once upon a time. Chikusa, doing that, when he was so sedate and lazy and loyal?

Chikusa in a session, as it turned out, could be quite a bit different.

Mukuro knew when he was on the verge of release. The heat was wound tight as a spring, ready to burst forward, and his cock was twitching all the harder in eager anticipation. He tried to speak, to form the words in his throat and allow them shape on his tongue, but it was impossible. Chikusa was stopping for nothing; perhaps he had also picked up on all the little signs he could see from his end. Perhaps he simply didn't care and was too busy enjoying the sight of his Mukuro squirming beneath him. In that moment, it didn't matter what exactly the answer was, only that he continued to thrust right into him to draw out moans and gasps that Mukuro couldn't hold back. At long last, right as Chikusa angled himself just right for another thrust, that was it. That was the final thing which undid him. Mukuro's mind went white, stars bursting behind the darkness of the blindfold. The sound of Chikusa's fierce rutting into him, the smell of well maintained wood against his face, even the feel of his cock buried deep inside of him- all of that faded away for one brilliant moment that seemed to last for ages before reality faded back into existence.

As smell and hearing slowly returned to him, the physical aspect of the world wasted no time in coming back in the form of Chikusa thrusting into him again. Mukuro jolted, gasping from the rush of soreness that rattled through him. He tried to speak, to at least call Chikusa's name, but his throat refused to work properly for him as though it were utterly detached from his mind. All he could do was make strange, rough sounds which tilted up high to the ceiling. In the meanwhile, Chikusa continued to rut into him until he pressed down on him harder, hissing in his efforts to hold back his voice under the throes of his own orgasm. With his ass fucked raw, sensitive and aching, Mukuro actually _whimpered_ as hot, wet cum began to fill him. Every little muscle in him tensed up, shivering, shaking, and he made a noise even he couldn't identify when Chikusa slid his cock out, leaving a trail of hot cum trailing out down to his balls.

He couldn't do anything like that, down against the floor. His muscles had locked in place, keeping him in the embarrassing position with his ass in the air and his face pressed down against the floor. Fortunately, Chikusa was there. Even as Mukuro laid there, dazed in the aftermath, he felt Chikusa's long fingers slip underneath his body and carefully turn him around until he could fit snugly into his arms. Feeling a thousand miles away, Mukuro could hear him grunt, and feel the way his body tensed against his as he lifted him up into the air. Maybe it took a couple of minutes, maybe it took no time at all- Mukuro couldn't tell with his mind left fuzzy like this. Time was inconsequential. Either way, the next thing he felt was the sleek sheets on the bed, his hands still handcuffed behind him and pinned beneath his back. Chikusa's heels clicked away for a brief second before coming back; Mukuro couldn't be bothered to think on what he was doing. It was only obvious when those gentle reverent fingers pressed against both sides of his face, moving up gently. Light began to filter in from the bottom of the blindfold as it was lifted and then slowly slipped upwards. The lights in the room had been dimmed, not so harsh to eyes that had been blinded for the last... who knew how long.

Appreciation for the thoughtful gesture would come later. As his eyes adjusted to sight again, from blurriness to clarity, the very first thing he took note of was Chikusa bent so close over him. At some point during the proceedings, he'd lost his hat, and now his dark hair was frazzled and messy. Along his neck and near his cheeks, it clung to sweaty flushed skin. His beautiful eyes were still so dark, and something about Mukuro's own face seemed to make the other man shudder before he leaned down to still a quick kiss. Best he could, Mukuro tried to kiss back, but he'd barely managed to reciprocate when Chikusa pulled back. Words were still escaping him. To show his displeasure, all he could do was make a small noise... which quickly escalated into a cry that bounced off the ceiling as Chikusa wrapped his plush lips around the head of Mukuro's cock, legs shoved over his shoulders. No longer held down by the hair and gripped by the ass, Mukuro was able to thrash around with every sharp suck and soft lap of tongue, whimpering and giving harsh dry sobs as his mind was overwhelmed. It was good, too good, good enough to be painful again, but Chikusa didn't care. All he did was dig his nails into the soft flesh of Mukuro's thighs, and continued to diligently clean every trace of cum from his cock from where it had dripped down the underside to where it had leaked out of his far too sensitive head. By the time he was done, Mukuro was a shivering mess against the mattress, and he actually whined as Chikusa's warm mouth pulled away from him. He was mid-whine when Chikusa hauled himself up over him, and crushed their lips together. Chikusa kissed him like he fucked him- relentlessly, roughly, until Mukuro was moaning without restraint for him.

Things after that were... fuzzy. All he knew for a while was that Chikusa was still touching him all over, only not in the pursuit of pleasure for either of them. When he "woke up", it was in the bathroom and submerged from the shoulders down in water, free of clothing. Behind him, he could feel Chikusa carefully adjust both of them so that they were both comfortable. For a few moments, Mukuro didn't speak. He felt strangely drunk, as though he'd gotten the right amount of intoxicated, and he suspected that he'd sound it if he tried to speak. Instead, he let himself have an excuse to take in the bathroom, which apparently had its lights dimmed just as much as the bedroom itself was. In Mukuro's experience, the true sign of luxury wasn't how a room was decorated, but rather how luxurious the bathroom was... and the bathroom attached to this particular room was truly luxurious. It was enormous, so much so that there was little doubt in his mind that a single person bed could have been put into the available floor space without intruding upon the sink or toilet. The counter stretched out impressively, enough that multiple people could keep their things upon it, and there was a shower squeezed into a corner that could have fit a few people within it. The bath tub that the pair of them laid in was very much the same. While Chikusa had propped him up against his body, he felt fairly certain that the two of them could have laid within it side by side and have no issues.

Water suddenly lapped harder against the sides of the tub and Mukuro's arms, and the reason why became clear as Chikusa slowly lifted up one of his hands with both of his. Where the cuffs had been, skin was bruised a bit with only a little bit of scraping. Clearly he'd tugged against them more than he could have recalled. Even as he looked down at it, Chikusa gently began to clean his wrist. It was likely he'd still wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning... but anything else wouldn't be as bad.

Surely his voice had to have recovered by now. "I couldn't have imagined you would get that rough," he murmured, voice matching the exact wording that he had used with his hoarseness. That, too, was a consequence of how he had reacted while Chikusa had so violently taken him against the floor. Now that he thought about it, his knees would probably be bruised as well. A good thing that he had a penchant for longer boots anyway. "Then again, we did start this whole little habit with choking, so I suppose I'm not _that_ surprised."

Against his spine, Chikusa's chest rose with long, soft, deep breaths. He'd apparently recovered much quicker than Mukuro had, which was mildly annoying. He didn't like not having the upper hand, even if it was only for a trivial matter like this, with one of the few people in the world that he could rely on. "Are you hurt, Mukuro-sama?"

He was aching, in fact, from his ass to his knees to his wrists and even his cheek where he'd been forced down against the floor. Instead of hiding any of this, Mukuro drawled, " _All_ over. I do hope you take care of what you've done, Chikusa."

A hum rumbled at his back, and Chikusa's sigh was quite content where it brushed against Mukuro's ear. "Of course, Mukuro-sama. Please allow me to clean and take care of you."

That would probably mean more laying like this against Chikusa's body, sedate and quiet, in a way that seemed suspiciously like it could almost be called _cuddling_. Mukuro wasn't one for physical displays of affection like that, often scorning them even if he didn't always use words. Yet on the other hand... He was quite tired from the rigorous session they'd just had, and aching as well. It was only Chikusa's place to pamper him like this, taking such care of his body. That's right. That's all it was. So with murmured consent, Mukuro relaxed into his subordinate's body and watched as he meticulously began to clean him with his hands roaming all over his body to rid of him of aches and sweat.

It was only aftercare, and Chikusa's need to be useful. That's all it was.


End file.
